


Death's Child

by Sakubato



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2020-11-02 01:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 43,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20572916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakubato/pseuds/Sakubato
Summary: Sirius Black has Moonlighted as an actual Grim for years.  Then, that fateful Halloween, he calls in a favor from Death.   Now It's been ten years since anyone has seen or heard from Harry Potter, And when he fails to appear at the sorting in 1991, Chaos ensues.  Hermione Granger was always different, but between magic and her new friend harry, just how much will her life change?  As years go by, and they grow closer to Harry's return to the wizarding world, the question becomes:  How will the wizarding world react to a Harry Potter raised by his favorite ‘uncle’: The grim reaper himself.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this is a side fic that will be updated infrequently, but i hope you enjoy anyway.

November 1st, 1981

The soft crack that sounded as Albus Dumbledore disappeared from Privet Drive echoed in the still night. Seconds passed, the sounds of the quiet night returned to their normal thrum, and all seemed at peace for the moment. Then the moment ended, and slowly, as the moon slid from behind the clouds, a distinguished gentleman and his dog appeared watching the spot where Dumbledore had disappeared.

The gentleman was immaculately dressed, if a bit old fashioned. His tall slim figure accented by the black trousers, vest, and tailed jacket. The white of his shirt was accented by the blood red Cravat he wore, the only color in his dress. In contrast the dog beside him was shaggy and unkempt, his midnight black hair sticking every which way. The lolling tongue wagged slightly, and a carefree spark glinted in it’s eye, though they returned repeatedly to the bundle on the step of number 4.

The man looked sadly at the spot that Dumbledore had disappeared from moments before, and shook his head. His right hand flicked out, making a slight hooking gesture towards number 4, and the dog trotted away. He approached the step, looking around to ensure no one was watching, then plucked the basket up in his jaws. The sway of the basket seemed the sooth the child within, who cooed softly in his sleep as he was carried away. The gentleman reached for the basket as his dog returned to his side, and paused as the dog growled ever so slightly. It was not an aggressive growl, more a possessive one. The gentleman merely cocked his eyebrow at the dog before taking the basket.

He looked down and the content toddler. Just over a year old, Young Harry Potter was blissfully unaware of his surroundings as he slept away. A frown crossed the man's face as he studied the young boy. Reaching in with his off hand, the gentleman caressed the lightning bolt shaped scar on the boys forehead and his frown deepened.

“That won’t do.” He whisper

Gently, the man pressed a little harder, and his finger hooked into Harry’s forehead. Any observer would have sworn they were seeing things as the man's finger sunk through Harry’s skin and bone, and hooked a gooey black tar like substance from beneath harry’s skin. It stretched, then coalesced, and the gentleman watched silently as it pooled in his palm, then solidified into a ball. Placing the black orb into his vest pocket, he smiled once more, before idly scratching his dog behind the ears.

Then, as simply as they had appeared, the man and his dog silently faded from view. Death, and his Grim, had departed Privet drive.


	2. October 31, 1991

**Thanks to Kaystar742 for keeping my ramblings coherent.**

**October 31, 1991**

Hermione Granger was not having a very good day. Nor week. Hell, she wasn’t having a good _year_. And now she was going to die.

A year ago, on her 11th birthday, she had gotten a rather unusual visitor. A well but oddly dressed older lady had knocked on the door of her parents' house and introduced herself as Professor McGonagall. Hermione wasn’t surprised really, she’d been getting occasional visits from professional educators for years, all wanting to teach her this or that. This one was different though, and not only in the way she dressed, but the feel of the woman. Tall, with grey hair in a tight bun and a stern expression, she looked like a stern but kindly grandmother. Her dress was nice but old fashioned, and probably Scottish by the tartan worked into it. Nothing jumped out as wrong really, Hermione just knew this one was _different._

When the professor had calmly informed her and her parents she was a witch, her parents had laughed, then when she didn’t seemed amused they started to get affronted. When Ms. McGonagall had pulled a small stick from her pocket and turned their kitchen table into a pig, they had gone deathly pale. The ensuing discussion, which had ended up being a series of them as Hermione asked question after question, had led to one of the most educational years of her life.

She had devoured book after book on the magical word. She went back to Diagon Alley so often to get more that Mr. Blotts knew her by name, and had recommendations waiting for her once he figured out her scheduled arrival coincided with the day after she got her allowance. Even the Goblins knew her; for as snarky and cruel as they could be, they respected her no nonsense approach to exchanging her money and the brevity of her visits. 

Her parents were less than thrilled with the prospect however. Both were devout Christians and witches were evil in their belief, that their own daughter was one was rather distressing to them. It took a lot of time, and a lot of frank discussions to work out this crisis of faith. On one occasion, Professor McGonagall brought an odd bird with her, introducing the whole family to Fawkes. Fawkes, she explained, was a phoenix, a firebird. She pointed out to the elder Grangers that in every mythos, the firebird was a creature of light, and the enemy of dark or evil beings. If she, a self-proclaimed witch, could interact with him, wouldn’t that suggest that not all witches were dark? Oddly enough, this seemed to sway her parents, at least to the point of acknowledging that there is some nurture vs. nature factor. It took months, but with Professor McGonagall’s help they finally convinced her parents to let her attend the magical school Hogwarts, if only to learn to control her magic.

The train ride to Hogwarts on September the first had been an incredibly exciting day for her. She was on her way to learn magic! The ride itself was nice; it was a bright sunny day, the people however, were less so. She had met several, and it seemed to her that wizards were a bit backward, and _a lot_ lazy. She had met many that were downright cruel, and only _one _that seemed like an alright sort. Neville had been looking for his toad, which she of course offered to help him look for. While looking, she’s received many rather rude comments, especially from the older students wearing green on their robes. She’d soon learned that green ones were from Slytherin house, while red were Gryffindor, blue Ravenclaw, and yellow Hufflepuff. While the non-Slytherins were better, no one was particularly friendly.

The sorting was exciting, even just being in the Great Hall was amazing, seeing all the magic around her. The sorting hat itself was rather nice, being the first truly welcoming presence she’d encountered in the magical world. The discussion they’d had over the attributes of the various houses was lovely, though his final decision to place her in Gryffindor was a bit of a surprise. His placement of Neville and a clueless redheaded boy named Ron Weasley had her questioning whether this was really the house of the brave. Not that there had been anything against the two boys, they just didn’t strike her as especially brave. 

Oddly enough, the largest reaction was when Professor McGonagall called out a name that went unanswered. She’d read about Harry Potter, even figured out she’d be attending with him if he did come, but things about his story didn’t add up to her. Things like: how did everyone know he survived the killing curse if he was the only one that survived that night? How did everyone know he killed the aggravatingly monickered He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? If the killing curse left no mark, why did it scar him? In any case, it seemed like he was famous for something he wouldn’t even remember, so why was everyone so upset that he wasn’t here?

All told, she felt slightly out of place among her year mates, for not a single one was also from the mundane world, or as they referred to it, Muggle-born, meaning no magical parents. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were half blood, one magical and one non-magical parent, while Neville and Ron were both ‘pure-blood’, two magical parents. For the girls, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were both pure blood while Faye Dunbar was halfblood.

Classes...well classes had been the beginning of her spiral. She’d read everything she could: every assigned book twice _plus _references. She had applied everything she had to ensure she didn’t fall behind, that she fit in, but the laziness of wizards was her downfall. None of her classmates had even opened their books yet, much less studied. This led to her ostritization for being a know-it-all. The fact that she felt and understood the magic better, got the exercises first (and almost effortlessly) made it even worse. 

Then today happened. Professor Flitwick was teaching the levitation charm, a simple charm that seemed like it would be so useful to Hermione. They had just started when Ron Weasley started waving his wand rather forcefully and mispronouncing the incantation. She’d stopped him, admonishing him about waving his wand about, and tried to help him with the pronunciation. Huffing, he’d demanded she do it then. So she did. She centered herself, pictured her intent clearly in her mind, incanted _Wingardium Leviosa_, and caused her feather to float around the room. Seamus exploding his feather distracted everyone and nothing more had been said, until after class.

“It’s Levi-OH-sa, not Levi-oh-SA,” Ron snarked in front of her, fully aware she was behind him. “She’s a bloody menace that one.”

She never knew, then or afterward crying in the girls’ loo, why he said it or why it hurt so much, but it did. It slipped through every defense she had and slipped through her armor, and every barb and hurt followed it in. Emotions flaring, she stifled a sob and brushed past him, fleeing, wanting to be anywhere but there. Eventually, she found herself in the girls’ loo, sobbing in a stall, reliving each and every cruel joke, casual dismissal, and barbed comment she had experienced at Hogwarts and before.

Finally cried out, she left her stall intending to depart the loo, find Professor McGonagall, and ask her to take her home.

A roar jerked her back to the present as the towering mountain of ugly above her bellowed in challenge, raising its club. _This is it, _she thought, _This is how I die._

The troll, for that is what it had to be, staggered, half the door bashing into the back of its head. It swung around, looking for whatever had attacked it, but nothing was there. It swung across the air in front of itself blindly, bellowing in rage, smashing half the stalls into splinters and covering Hermione with debris. Another hunk of wood, this one from one of the pillars between the stalls, flew up and struck it in the gut, winding it. 

Hermione scrambled out from under the debris, moving swiftly as far away from the beast as she could. She huddled under the sinks, curling up into a ball in the corner and tried to stop the shaking. _Dead, I’m dead._

The troll heard her. Turning back to the victim it could see, it moved further into the room, its giant club dragging on the floor as he approached her. It ignored several other pieces of wood and stone bouncing off its thick skin, intent on its chosen prey.

“Oh bugger this.” Hermione looked up as the world shimmered before her, and suddenly, a boy stood before her. He was small, about her size, with black hair tied back in a ponytail and a determined expression. He was dressed simply, some kind of linen pants, like she saw in Asian movies, along with a tank top and open front shirt, all in black. The oddest part was that he seemed to glow, almost ethereally. Not like it was a light or a ghost or something, but almost like his skin was wreathed in flames. It was an off white, tinged with blue, and radiating from him. Hermione had never experienced anything like it, but it felt like home. It was warm and comforting; it was like it wrapped her in a warm blanket in the middle of a snowstorm. He grinned over his shoulder at her, and she was mesmerized by his piercing green eyes. 

“Don’t worry, you’re safe,” he assured her, and his voice was like pure light.

Turning back to the beast, his smile fell, and his eyes hardened. Suddenly it was far from a friendly face. Hermione prayed she never met that face aimed at her, even the troll hesitated a moment before it swung again. This time, the powerful overhead blow would be unavoidable. There was the sinks to his right, the remaining stalls to his left, and no room to maneuver. It would hit them both. Hermione cringed, closed her eyes, and braced herself.

Nothing happened.

Peeking out one eye, Hermione saw something that boggled her mind. The boy, spirit, whatever he was, had caught the blow. She saw his feet had buckled the floor, cracks radiating from them, but the massive club had stopped dead. The two seemed to battle for a moment before the boy threw the club upward, staggered the troll back a step as he tried to recover.

The boy stood as he was, his arms coming in from spread wide after the push to gather before him. As they moved, flames licked out from the air around him, flowing into him, and between his hands began to glow. Fire licked and blue-white flames erupted from the orb of power between his fingers. His hands stopped a foot from each other, then he pushed outward, expelling the ball of flame towards his opponent. 

The eldritch blast struck the mountain of mean square in the chest, erupting in a fountain of blinding power. The shock and pain on the trolls face barely registered as fire blossomed from its chest, and the stench of burnt flesh permeated the room. The troll staggered, swayed, and finally fell back with a castle shaking **BOOM**, a charred hole where its chest used to be.

When Hermione could see again, the young man, no, boy, was kneeling in front of her. He cautiously placed his hand on her shoulder, gently sitting her up. The hardness of his eyes when he was facing the troll replaced by wonder and concern that melted her insides. 

“Sorry I was late, are you ok?” he asked, his voice lilting in just such a way. She felt herself start to shake, the adrenaline leaving her system as she realized she was finally safe. “Hey now, you’re ok, you’re fine,” he reassured her.

It was too much, just too much, and she lunged at him, hugging him tight. This both reassured her he was real, and gave her something to cling to as she felt herself start to sob. He stiffened for a second, then his arms gathered her to him, holding her. She let it all go, all her fears, all her resentment, everything that the bullying and name calling had built up over the years.

She had just about cried herself out, she really didn’t have much left after her all day pity party, when she felt him stiffen. She looked up and saw his eyes glued on the door, or at least the doorway since the door was now in several pieces. The hardness was back, and his face now determined.

“What…”

“No time,” he interrupted her. “I have to go. Don’t worry, you’ll see me again, but only you.”

“Wait, what?” Hermione was shocked. _Leave? Why?_

“No time, know that you are safe now, and nothing will hurt you if I can help it.” He stood, bringing her to her feet as well. “They’ll ask you what happened, and I'll bet Snape even takes points from you. But please, don't tell them about me, it’s not time yet.”

“But, what-?”

“You’re brilliant, you’ll figure it out.” He grinned at her and kissed her forehead.

“But I don’t even know your name,” she complained, hearing running feet from the hallway outside.

“I’m Harry,” he smiled as he faded from sight. “And you’re never alone.”


	3. Chapter 2

**October 31, 1991**

Moments after Harry had disappeared, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and Professor McGonagall had arrived. The shock on all three of their faces would have been amusing at any other time; now it just told the gravity of the situation. She cowered as Snape turned to glare at her, he honestly scared her more than the troll. 

“Severus,” McGonagall growled, “Stop it, can’t you see she’s terrified?”

“It’s her own fault, running off after this thing on her own.”

“I didn’t” cried Hermione. “I didn’t even know it was here.”

“What do you mean, didn’t you hear the headmaster at the feast?” McGonagall asked.

“I wasn’t at the feast,” Hermione looked at her shoes. “I’ve been here since charms…”

“Skipping class Granger?” Snape sneered, only to be silenced, literally and figuratively, by Professor McGonagall. It took the potions professor a moment to realize that while he continued to speak, nothing could be heard.

“We’ll deal with why later dear,” McGonagall said softly, kneeling down to look Hermione in the eye. “Can you tell me what happened here?”

“I… well…” Hermione hesitated, then spoke as clearly as she could, “I had just stepped out of the stall, when the doors were ripped off. When it came in it was… it all happened so fast Professor. I remember screaming. Something hit it in the back, part of the door I think. It destroyed most of the stalls when it swung at nothing. I tried to hide while it was turned away but is saw me. I… I’m not sure what happened but suddenly it was like it was hit by a fireball and it fell.”

“Astounding. Accidental magic,” Professor Dumbledore mumbled, then looked at the troll again. “Well, perhaps not entirely accidental. I suggest you take her to Madam Pomfrey Professor, have Poppy check her over and possibly give her something to help her sleep.”

“Of course headmaster, this way dear.”

The trip to the Hospital Wing was quiet, as was most of Madam Pomfrey’s inspection of her. The kindly matron had fussed over her, but reassured her she was fine. A potion to help her sleep and another to calm her if it started to come back to her. She frowned as, instead of taking her back to Gryffindor Tower, she was taken to McGonagall's office, then through it to her quarters. 

“Sit Miss Granger,” McGonagall directed her to a plush armchair before the fire while taking the other for herself. “Now, would you care to tell me why you were in the Girls lavatory all day?”

“Not really.” To say she was shocked at the topic of conversation would be an understatement.

“Well, do so anyway,” Minerva commanded, then turned to the side, “Tippy, tea please.”

“I… I was upset,” Hermione admitted.

“I guessed that, but why dear?” McGonagall asked, her stern expression softening a bit as a tea service appeared on the small table between them.

“The other students…” Hermione hesitated. “I’m having trouble fitting in. I was worried that I wouldn't fit in, not knowing about magic until I turned eleven, so I studied a lot before I got here. I didn’t want to be left behind, or not understand. But it seems that even those who grew up with magic didn’t know much to begin with. I tried to help them, share what I learned, but they tease me about it.”

“I see, and today?”

“Today, Ron Weasley was trying to force a spell, waving his wand everywhere,” Hermione told her. “I stopped him and tried to help correct his incantation to help him. He got testy and demanded I do it, so I did. We got distracted when Seamus blew his feather up, and went back to work. After class he mocked me and made fun of me. It... That’s why I was crying in the loo professor.”

“I see, and what really happened in the bathroom?”

“What?” Hermione asked, suddenly very afraid. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I imagine you don’t have much practice, but you really are a terrible liar my dear.”

“I didn’t lie,” Hermione told her defiantly. “Everything I said happened.”

“Oh I'm sure it did my dear, but is that really _all_ that happened?” Minerva asked. 

“That is what happened ma’am,” Hermione reaffirmed.

“Very well, let me tell you what I think happened.” Minerva set her tea aside. “I think this incident with Mr. Weasley was the last of many, and it finally broke your resolve. You cried in the lavatory and were debating quitting Hogwarts. The troll showed up, and you feared for your life. Then _he_ showed up and saved you. The things you described happened but they weren’t your doing as you let the headmaster believe, but _his_ doing. Am I right?”

“He who?” Hermione’s voice quavered a bit as she feigned ignorance.

“That would be the question wouldn’t it?” Minerva agreed, then chuckled a bit. “Oh calm down child. I may seem the stern old witch but I promise I'm not going to eat you.”

“I should hope not,” a calm well-mannered voice said from nowhere. “Miss Granger, Professor McGonagall can be trusted. And no Minerva, it wasn’t me this time.”

“Who? What?” Hermione spun around, searching for the source of the voice.

“Calm down dear,” Minerva said calmly, sipping her tea. “I’m still not sure exactly who he is, but I do know a few things. First, he saved a young man I care about from a rather unpleasant fate some years ago. He has never done anyone harm that didn’t bring it upon themselves. And he has the damnable ability to get into places and do things without a trace, which really irritates me.”

“I know it does, why do you think I enjoy it?” The voice’s calm veneer broke with a hint of amusement. “There are two books for her on your desk. Harry sends his regards, and bids me tell you it’s a girl.”

“Good, ask him to send pictures.”

“I will, good night ladies.”

“Harry?” Hermione asked, “Who’s that?”

“I’ll make you a deal,” McGonagall countered, “You tell me what really happened, and I’ll tell you about Harry.”

“I…” 

She had hesitated, but eventually told Professor McGonagall everything. The bullying, the snide comments, and ending up crying in the loo. Then how she’d just decided to quit, and the troll had shown up. Harry had appeared to rescue her, blasting the thing with his magic somehow, and then held her as she cried _again._ It had been late that night before she left the office, but true to her word, McGonagall had told her all she knew about Harry.

Harry Potter had been rescued by his Godfather and his friend, the gentleman that vexed Minerva, from a pair of thoroughly despicable muggles. Unfortunately, his godfather had ended up in prison, falsely accused of betraying the Potters and of killing another friend and twelve muggles. This had led to the gentleman raising Harry, and teaching him a lot of lost arts. Arts that she had never heard of nor could replicate. She, as his godmother, was allowed to visit occasionally, but due to her working at Hogwarts, was not told much of their larger plan. They didn’t trust Dumbledore, nor the ministry, and had something planned, but she was unaware of what exactly.

Hermione later left the office with two new books, Taming Your Inner Beast and Lost Arts of the Mind, to help her learn to defend her mind as well as start her animagus training. McGonagall had been shocked at the note that accompanied the books, asking her to assist Hermione in becoming an animagus. In it, Harry had explained that it was actually easier to become an animagus when you were younger because your instincts were closer to the surface, or at least it was easier to find one’s form anyway. 

The second book, about mind magic, was to help her defend her mind, using occlumency and a few other tricks to fully isolate her from attack. Even better, these were annotated. Normally Hermione would be upset about defiling a book by writing in it, but these were organized, concise, and always in the margins. 

It had taken a lot of discussion, but eventually McGonagall had agreed to assist her. She would have extra classes Wednesday after dinner and Saturday afternoons. Now, most students would dread this, school was evil to them after all, but for Hermione it was a dream come true. School work and learning had been her salvation as a child. The down side was that she couldn’t tell anyone. These were secret lessons and while they would challenge her, they would also further ostracize her.

She had enjoyed the reading, though the lessons were a bit less so. Mostly, other than discussing the aspects of the information she’d read, most of it was meditation. Both Occlumency and the animagus transformation started with intense meditation, for both were mental disciplines first.

The animagus transformation was about becoming one with your inner self. Finding an animal spirit living inside yourself, the basest instincts driving you. While some witches and wizards can overcome their inner self, it was still a part of them. Some were noble, some were timid, some were sneaky, and some were reckless. This was reflected in their animal form, but it was not always all of it. A courageous person could still be a mouse or a snake, forms not normally known for being courageous. That was one of the most difficult parts of meditation. While identifying the parts of you was a necessity, it doesn't always mean it will help you identify your spirit.

Harry’s book talked about an alternative method, one McGonagall had only seen work once; with Harry himself. It was similar to an alternative method of occlumency Harry wrote about, which involved building a mindscape. A mental world, filled with defenses and any wonder you could imagine. The method Harry described, involved finding a centered place, letting your mind blank and just being, with no conscious thought or emotion. Then one lets their unconscious mind built the scape. In that scape, your animagus form can find you, as it was an aspect of your unconscious mind. It was a new method, or at least newly rediscovered, but for some reason it had called to her, and that had been her chosen method.

The last two months of the year were better for her. After the troll incident, even the git Weasley had backed off. Neville confided in her later that he was scared she would end up doing to him what she did to the troll. Her roommates had eased up, and the boys seemed… wary but tolerant. The rest of the school seemed to give her a wide berth, though for the most part they were a lot less nasty to her, again, probably out of fear. The Slytherins reactions were mixed, Malfoy and his goons, as well as Parkinson, seemed to think the whole incident was made up. Greengrass and Davis seemed to believe it, and gave her an even wider berth, while Bulstrode and Nott were of the ‘wait and see’ attitude.

All in all, Hermione was happier at Hogwarts, even with the odd things going on. She had overheard Ron talking about a giant three headed dog, and everyone knew something was wrong with Professor Quirrell, other than his perpetual pungent odor of garlic. She looked out the window of the Hogwarts Express, seeing the city of London grow in the distance, and decided while she was happier with the wizarding world now, but she was _very _happy to be going home for Christmas.


	4. December 25, 1991

**December 25, 1991**

Hermione was smiling brightly as it was Christmas morning. She came down, expecting a normal Christmas morning: her parents and her each opening a present in turn, smiling appropriately, and then they would move on. It had been almost a tradition, the simple methodical opening of presents. Very proper and very organized. It was like that until her mother had pulled out a gift with confusion on her face.

“Hermione?” She asked. “Do you know a Harry?”

“Yes,” Hermione was confused, “I met him at school, why?”

“He sent you a present dear.” She handed a wrapped box to her, “How did he do that?”

“Magic I expect,” Hermione said, looking seriously at the box.

“Oh,” her mother sat back, “and who is this boy who is sending you Christmas presents?” Her tone was curious but not overly concerned.

“He’s a friend mum,” Hermione said blushing. “We don’t see each other much, we don’t have class together, but he has helped me a lot.”

“An older boy?”

“No mum, and just a friend.” Hermione seriously blushing at the implication this time, and turned her attention to the present. Peeling the wrapping paper off carefully, her parents abhorred ripping it off, she revealed a bound journal. Covered in some kind of leathery lizard skin, it was embossed with her name, written in a flowing script and it seemed to hum to her. A short note was attached to the cover.

_Hermione,_

_This is one half of a pair of journals. What is written in one will appear in the other, so we can write back and forth. To activate it, place a drop of blood on the cover, then only you can read what is written within. I know you have questions, but some will have to wait. A lot of what is ‘known’ to wizards is wrong. I wish to help you learn the truth._

_ Harry_

“Dear?”

“It’s a journal,” Hermione said softly, awed at the gift. “A private journal. Once I activate it, only I can read it.”

“That’s nice dear.”

That’s nice dear. That was the extent of her parents’ congratulations. Like she’d just gotten a novel or a pair of socks. Hermione had to wait until that night to key the journal to her, and when she did, she saw a letter had already been written to her.

_Hermione,_

_I hope you aren’t upset with this gift, I understand if it seems presumptuous but I thought it would help us get to know each other. Not being able to know you better is one of my biggest regrets about not attending Hogwarts. Wow, I sounded stalkerish there… sorry. I guess some explanation is required. Almost everything the wizarding world knows about me is a lie. They ‘know’ I survived the killing curse, I didn't. They ‘know’ my godfather betrayed us, he didn’t. They ‘know’ I was raised by a loving caring family… well, that one wouldn't have been true, though I honestly can’t exactly call where I was raised loving, but I was cared for. Before you ask, it’s not my secret to give, so I can't tell you much about it. One thing I can tell you is that there is a connection between us, or at least the potential for one. I have an in with some rather knowledgeable people that say we have great potential, though it is not guaranteed. I’d like to see if it’s true, if you're willing._

_I can’t be there to help you like I wish, there’s just too much at stake to risk it unfortunately. I can be here though. I’ll answer what I can, and once you are strong enough in occlumency and the other mind defense arts, I’ll be able to tell you more. Still not everything honestly, but more. I know it’ll take time, but I hope we can work together and become friends._

_ Harry_

Hermione sat back and thought. It wasn’t what she had expected really, but it made sense, she supposed. He knew he was an unknown to her, and was upfront that he wouldn’t be able to tell her everything, but he was making an effort. Professor McGonagall trusted him, even though she was isolated from him due to her position. 

She remembered when an almost desolate Professor Mcgonagall had confessed what had happened that night all those years ago. She had been asked by Professor Dumbledore to look in on a muggle couple, it was an odd request but she did it. Then Dumbledore had shown up, followed by Hagrid with little Harry. She’d fought, for the Muggles were the worst sort, but eventually let herself be convinced to leave Harry there, with his aunt and uncle. She’d called it one of her greatest regrets. She had also explained that she’d gone back later that night, intending to take him somewhere else, somewhere where he would be safe _and_ loved, but he was already gone. She’d snuck in to check on him, only to find he wasn’t there at all, someone else had taken him.

From there she told of her quiet search over the next couple of days, until she heard of the arrest of Harry’s Godfather. It was the next morning when she’d found it, the note. It had arrived on her bedside table overnight, none of the elves knew anything about it and no one had entered according to the wards. The note had been simple yet infuriating. Harry was alive and safe, Sirius was innocent, and due to who had been involved she wouldn’t be able to see Harry until he made that choice. The individual acknowledged that she had a right to see him as his Godmother, but since she had allowed Dumbledore to leave him there, she was effectively on probation. With no way to contact whoever it was, she’d been forced to wait, for like Harry’s benefactor had said, she had allowed him to be left in a sub-optimal situation.

McGonagall had related the tale of meeting Harry when he was five, how serious he’d been. He’d introduced his guardian as a friend of Sirius’s, someone who owed him a favor. Then he actually sat her down and asked her why she had let him be left on his aunt’s doorstep. It was definitely not the talk she’d expected to have with a child, but she’d explained why, as well as why she had gone back later to correct her mistake. She also explained that she had since lost any respect for Dumbledore when he’d lied to her face when asking him about Harry. She then mentioned Professor Dumbledore had made quiet searches himself since the first of September, when Harry failed to arrive at Hogwarts. It seemed that he had finally visited the boy’s relations, only to discover he’d never been there at all. It was quite entertaining to the elder witch, and Harry too.

Hermione pondered all she knew for a bit, then made her decision, she picked up a pen, inked it, and started writing.

_Harry,_

_It certainly is nice to hear from you, and I do have many questions. It will take a while to get all this sorted out, but I agree, we should try to get to know each other. It will be nice to have someone to talk to who actually _wants_ to talk to me._

_As for your secrets, I suppose I don’t have a right to them, and am willing to let you have them for now. I do have two requests though: First, don’t keep anything from me that may hurt me or is about me. Second, can you tell me who your friend is that said we have potential, and why? _

_If you’re not at Hogwarts, what are you studying? Are you learning similar things as I am? Who is teaching you? What are… I guess I should only ask a couple of questions, at least for now. I look forward to talking more with you. _

_ Hermione_

And thus began their prolific writing war. Harry was willing to answer most of her questions, even posed a couple to her that got her thinking about more than just what Hogwarts was teaching. This led to many long discussions with Professor McGonagall on why they use wands, if other focuses work better, or if one needed one at all.

Some months later, in April, Harry made a couple requests and asked her a couple things, and now she sat in her favorite window seat, far above the muddy white world below, and tried to think. She’d had a very serious conversation with her parents about whether to continue Hogwarts or not over Christmas. They’d gone back and forth about it for days, in fact she’d almost not gotten on the train back; almost given it all up. Two things had stopped her from not coming back; her thirst to learn everything she could, and Harry. He had made a request that had her in her favorite thinking spot, because it was about Hagrid.

Hagrid was the large lovable gameskeeper. Hermione was pretty sure he was half giant or something to be as large as it was, but he had a way about him that made her slightly uncomfortable. He seemed to think dangerous just meant misunderstood, like the current case. Apparently the man had won a dragon egg playing cards and was intending to hatch it. Harry had just asked her to look in on him, see how he was doing, but Hermione wasn’t sure that was all. 

She’d written an entry in their journal explaining what she’d found, and asking if he had known. She was waiting for a reply. She was also plotting how to help if she decided to help Hagrid. She knew one of the older Weasley brothers worked on a dragon preserve, so that was the obvious choice on where, the question was how. How does one get a baby dragon out of Hogwarts?


	5. June 5th, 1992

**June 5th, 1992**

Hermione groaned and opened her eyes. Everywhere on her hurt, she even hurt in places she hadn’t realized she had. Around her, she saw dual rows of old fashioned infirmary beds arrayed along both sides of a long room well-lit by large windows. The Hospital Wing she guessed. Rolling her head the other way, she saw Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall hurrying towards her.

“Miss Granger,” the healer asked, “how are you feeling?”

“Like someone ran over me with a lorry...or twelve.” She groaned. “What happened?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” McGonagall told her. “When the headmaster and I returned from London, we found you and Mr. Weasley in the third floor corridor, magically stabilized but still injured.”

“I…” Hermione hesitated, looking sideways at Madam Pomfrey, then at McGonagall.

“Madam Pomfrey,” McGonagall said quickly, “I must ask that everything you hear here not related to the injuries themselves be sealed under a healer's oath. There may be information revealed that would be detrimental to others if released.”

“I, well, if you’re sure Minerva,” Pomfrey said, her tone clearly affronted. “I swear on my magic not to reveal anything not strictly medically related that I may hear from Hermione Granger this day.”

“Thank you Poppy, I’m sure you’ll understand why shortly.” McGonagall turned to Hermione. “Please continue dear.”

“Well, like I wrote to you,” Hermione began, “I heard Ron and the others talking about the third floor corridor, apparently they thought it was a test of bravery, and they intended to show everyone they were the bravest.”

“I see,” McGonagall huffed. “It seems I’ll have to speak with them again, please continue.”

“Anyway, I sent an owl to you, then I… then I wrote to Harry, told him what was happening and that I was going to stop them.”

“Harry dear?” Pomfrey asked.

“A friend, we have linked journals to write back and forth,” Hermione explained. “Anyway, I got to Fluffy, and found someone had charmed a harp to play.”

“And who is Fluffy?” the matron asked, interrupting again.

“Fluffy is Hagrid’s Cerberus. He was guarding the trap door to the rest of the obstacles on the third floor,” Hermione answered. “If you want to put him to sleep you just play music for him. Unfortunately the harp lost its enchantment while I was there, but Fluffy knew me since I'd been helping Hagrid feed him. A couple scratches behind the ears and he let me by.”

“Hagrid had you help him feed him?” Minerva asked. “I’ll have to have a word with that man.”

“It’s ok professor, I asked to.” Hermione defended the friendly giant who had become her friend since she got the Weasley twins to help smuggle his dragon out of the castle mere hours before Malfoy's father had shown up to kill it and arrest Hagrid. “Anyway, I went through the trapdoor and landed in Devil's snare. I realized what it was and just relaxed through it. Below I found Seamus, who had been burned trying to get free. He was ok, just beat up and trapped under some dead devil’s snare. I freed him and got him patched up. He went for help while I went on.”

“Good thing you did,” Pomfrey told her. “He’s already out of here because of the triage you did, well done.”

“Thank you.” Hermione blushed. “I came upon a room full of keys next, flying keys. There was a broom, but I hate to fly, plus it seemed far too easy, so I figured it was trapped. Instead I used Immobulus to freeze them. Once the wings stopped beating, they fell and I found the right key.”

“Ingenious,” McGonagall muttered. “I’ll have to tell Filius your solution.”

“Next was a giant chess set,” Hermione carried on. “It hadn’t reset from the previous game since Dean was pinned under the debris of his piece. Told me Ron had sacrificed him to win, and then left him there.”

“Definitely another talk with the boys,” McGonagall muttered.

“I got Dean free using a couple levitation charms, then immobilized his broken arm and sent him back while I continued again. The next room had a dead troll in it, it was here I started to get really nervous, cause there’s no way Ron got past a troll on his own.”

“Not according to him,” McGonagall told her, “although I too doubt his story.”

“Anyway, I was working my way through the potions logic puzzle when Harry arrived.” Hermione glanced at Madam Pomfrey, then kept going. “We figured out the right potion, and I drank it. I passed through the flames, and Harry followed me.”

“Followed you? How? It should have taken half an hour for the potion to refill.”

“He, uh… He transfigured the table into a metal plank, laid it over the fire and walked across.” Hermione blushed, embarrassed she hadn’t thought of that either. “Anyway, we made our way down and found the last room. In the middle Professor Quirrel was staring at this big mirror, casting occasionally at it. To the side Ron was passed out in a puddle drooling, pretty sure he peed himself.”

“I see, and what happened then?”

“Quirrell saw us enter, and paused.” Hermione finished, “He demanded we tell him how to retrieve the stone. Harry laughed. He told Quirrel he’d removed the stone ages ago and he was out of luck. Quirrell talked to himself for a moment, almost like he was arguing with himself, then attacked Harry. I’ve never seen wizards fight before, it was really intense, spells flying everywhere, stuff exploding. Anyway, eventually Quirrell just charged Harry, grabbing him around the neck. Then it got weird. Wherever they touched, Quirrel started to smoke. Harry pushed his face away, and his whole body started to crumble. He kinda exploded, knocking Harry back. What was left was a specter, a black ghost, but he didn’t look like Quirrell. It told Harry it would be back for him, but in the meantime it would show him true power. It moved towards me… through me I think, I’m not sure because I passed out at that point, and it must have disappeared.”

“So you think this Harry got you and Mr. Weasley back to the third floor and left?” Pomfrey asked. “He didn’t stay and make sure you were ok?”

“He knew I would be ok,” Hermione said confidently. “Besides, he really, really hates the headmaster.”

“I see,” Pomfrey obviously didn’t, but that was ok. “Well, you’ll be here another day, just to make sure there’s no lasting effects. I imagine your friends will be glad you’re ok.”

“Yeah,” Hermione glanced at McGonagall, doubt playing over her features, “I’m sure they will.”

It was later that night when Hermione felt it. She couldn’t say exactly what _it_ was, but it was there, telling her she wasn’t alone. It was after visiting hours, Madam Pomfrey was in her office and she should be alone. She looked around, trying to figure out what had warned her, looking for some clue.

“Your instincts are getting better,” his voice came from beside her.

“Don’t scare me like that,” Hermione whined as she hit Harry in the arm. “Scared the life out of me.”

“And facing Voldemort’s specter didn’t?” He asked. “Seriously, I'm proud of you. You faced one of the most evil wizards ever and stood your ground.”

“That was... was Voldemort?” Hermione asked shakily. 

“Yeah.” Harry sighed, taking a seat beside her on the bed. “I guess it’s explanation time huh?”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed, a slight shake in her voice.

“Ok, but since I only want to tell the tale once we need to wait for…” He paused, then looked at the entranceway as a Tabby cat made her way down the aisle. “Ah, hello professor.”

“How could you tell it was her?” Hermione asked. “You’re too far away to see any identifying marks.”

“Part of being an Animagus is recognizing it in others,” Professor McGonagall explained as she shifted. “It’s much easier with someone you know is one, and it’s part of how I know when Mr. Potter here is in the castle. Actually, since the wards don’t seem to ever respond to him, it’s about the only way I know.”

“Oh, I see.” Hermione sighed, upset by her shortcomings in becoming an Animagus.

“Don’t be like that,” Harry chided her. “Most animagi take years to find their form, my father took over two himself. I took a year and a half to find my form.”

“And I took right about two.” McGonagall comforted her. “You, I expect to have completed meeting your form within another year or so, and full transformation within the next two or three. Youth, while a bit easier to find your form, are generally limited by the ability to assume that form.”

“Ok, I’ll stop getting down on myself,” Hermione promised. “Now Harry, you were about to explain?”

“Yeah,” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, “I guess the easiest thing to do is to come out and say it. Voldemort isn’t dead.”

Shocked silence followed his declaration.

“Ok, now that the shocker is out there, here goes.” Harry said after a moment, “The night he attacked my parents and me in Godric’s Hollow he did die, kind of. He’d made anchors, using dark magic, to bind his soul to this existence. Trust me, certain parties were very upset by that, but can’t interfere. Until those anchors are destroyed, he can’t _fully _die.”

“So what we faced down there…”

“Was his conscious soul, the one whose body was destroyed in Godric's Hollow,” Harry confirmed. “Call it the main soul. So far, we’ve found and captured three of his anchors. One was a Goblet belonging to Helga Hufflepuff, recovered with help from the Goblins. The second was a Ring, made from a Peverell family artifact, left in the trapped home of his ancestors. The third, well that was the piece of his soul that split off when his body was destroyed and was embedded in me. The one Dumbledore was willing to leave there.”

“That miserable, heartless, despicable old-”

“That’s enough, Miss Granger,” McGonagall cut the young girl off. “I see now why you are so thoroughly upset with the headmaster.”

“Yeah, he’s number three on my shit list.” Harry agreed.

“Language Harry,” Hermione scolded him. “Wait, who’s higher than that?”

“Number one is Voldemort himself, killing my parents and trying to kill me, twice now, earned him that spot.” Harry growled, “And number two is Peter Pettigrew, my parents’ secret keeper and the real betrayer.”

“Peter?” Hermione gasped, “But Sirius Black was your parents’ secret keeper, everyone knows that.” 

“Just like they know I survived the killing curse?” Harry retorted, then smiled, “No, Peter was the secret keeper, and Sirius is innocent, but we can’t prove it. And ancient agreements prevent certain _outside forces_ from interfering so it took me years to get him out of Azkaban. This unfortunately means that Sirius is arguably insane now. He had some protection from the Dementors, but not even his abilities would be completely effective.”

“So what now?” Minerva asked, “What’s the next step?”


	6. June 23, 1992

**June 23rd, 1992**

Hermione’s return home was about what she expected, polite but disinterested questions from her parents. Always asking about her friends and never about what she actually learned. She told them a little, but not a lot about her year, purposely avoiding mentioning the troll or the events at the end of the year. The less said about those incidents to her already wary parents the better.

She continued to talk to Harry over their journals while she was in France on vacation with her parents. Actually, Harry kept her sane during the trip, if the truth be told. She loved her parents, she really did, but ever since they’d found out she was a witch, they’d been more distant than ever before. In France, they visited several landmarks, and in the Louvre her parents almost left her, not realizing she had paused to read about some of the art. Then, they blamed her for getting lost and effectively told her not to lose them again. It soured the rest of the trip for Hermione. 

The day after they returned, however, was one of the toughest ones. Hermione and her parents had just settled in to eat when a tapping came from the window. Moving over to see what was going on, Hermione’s mother shrieked in fright when she saw a beautiful white owl sitting on the sill with a letter in its beak. Hermione hastened to explain that was how magic folk sent letters, and that the owls were very polite and well behaved. 

Opening the window, Hermione gently took the letter from the magnificent bird and offered it a piece of her ham. Hooting its thanks, the owl ate neatly as Hermione opened the letter. It was actually two, the first was from Harry.

The owl was his, her name was Hedwig. She would come if Hermione asked her to, to deliver any mail for her. The 2nd letter was an official offer for Hermione to stay for the last few weeks of the summer with him and his guardian. It was for her parents, and if owl post was inconvenient for them, a phone number was included to allow them to speak directly with his guardian. Turning, she saw the mild horror on her parents' faces and knew it would be a battle.

Over the next couple of weeks, long hard arduous weeks to be sure, eventually she convinced her parents to let her go. It was fortunate that Harry had included a telephone number, for both her parents were worried about the oddity of owls being seen flying to and from their house. The MI-5 agents that showed up to interview both adults resulted in an interesting evening, but it also solidified for her parents that Hermione would be safe, and that this wasn’t some sham. A dinner with both Harry and his guardian had sealed the deal, after all, someone who could get a reservation at The Ivy in London on no notice, was definitely someone you wanted to know.

Harry’s house, well, that was definitely something different. His guardian pulled up outside Hermione’s house in a black stretch limo, complete with chauffeur, and thanked her for deciding to join them. It was a little disconcerting not being able to see out of the super dark windows, but the lavish comfort distracted her from that fact. A plush ride later, it couldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes, and they arrived at a plain brownstone house in the middle of London, which was normally over an hour away. It was a nice place, particularly for London, but honestly not what she was expecting. 

They got out of the car and She was led in the front door. She stepped through the threshold, straight onto a tropical beachfront property. Hermione’s mind was blown. .

White sand beaches stretched from horizon to horizon, with clear blue waves lapping gently against them. She could see the land curving back into itself in the distance, suggesting they were on a peninsula or island of some sort. Mild vegetation lined along the start of the sand, and a roman style villa stood on the edge of a hill overlooking the beach. No, not Roman, some cross between Roman, Victorian, and modern she decided, seeing the satellite dish on the roof. Greek Columns stood tall and modern insulated windows faced the marble edifice. She was almost reminded of the American White House, but this was pure luxury. She stepped inside and marveled at the intricate architecture and subtle beauty of the place. 

“Welcome to Death's Door.” Harry grinned happily. His grin widening when he saw her shocked face. “It’s a lot to take in at first, but it is real. The London door leads to a real house unless you’re invited here. I could have every wizard in the world chasing me, and once I step through it, they won't find me. They’ll step through right on my heels, or even grabbing me, and they’ll still end up in the house and I'll end up here. You are perfectly safe. Only four people are on the invite list right now, three are here, and the last is Aunt Minerva.”

“Where are we?” she asked finally.

“The original island was somewhere in the Mediterranean, and the weather stays that way.” He told her, leading her out to the veranda, “Where is it now? That’s harder to explain.”

“I have time.”

“You do have the time,” Harry’s guardian agreed from behind them, “but we don’t know if you have the ability yet.” Hermione turned to him, a question on her lips before he continued, “I’d like to test your mental shields if I may.”

“I suppose.” Hermione looked uneasily at Harry who nodded. “May I ask why?”

“You may.” The gentleman agreed. “There are levels of secrecy we have; the level of your mental defenses will determine how much we can tell you.”

“So, if I'm ok, I get some, but if I'm good, I get more kind of thing?” 

“Yes,” he confirmed, then looked at Harry. “She can know the basics about you, but she isn’t strong enough to deflect a determined deliberate probe, so minimum about me or the big stuff about you.”

‘But… how?” Hermione asked, shocked she hadn’t felt her probe at all. “I didn’t detect anything.”

“My dear, Dumbledore wouldn’t detect it. Trust me, I've done it to him. I pretty much invented the mind arts.”

“You… but they’re….” Hermione seemed to be overloading, she turned away to collect herself.

“Harry, are you sure about her?” The gentleman asked. “I mean really sure?”

“I am sir,” Harry said confidently, causing Hermione to turn back to him.

“Very well, I'll allow basic information on me.” The gentleman agreed, turning from the pair and re-entering the building. “But if she’s not ready by the time she leaves it gets sealed.”

“Yes sir,” Harry said, joy tinging his voice. “Thank you sir.”

“Harry?” Hermione asked hesitantly. “Why do I feel like Alice just after she stepped through the looking glass?”

“Because compared to her,” Harry said ominously, “you have a lot to take in. There is one other person here, someone that you know of, but not everything you’ve read is accurate.”

“Who?” Hermione asked cautiously.

“Sirius Black.” Harry said quietly, waiting for the eruption he expected. It never came. Looking up, he saw the young bushy haired witch in an obvious thinking pose. Knowing she’d have to consider it all for herself, he waited until she was done and spoke.

“Explain please.” She said simply, “You never really explained what actually happened.”

“Well, there is very little actually known about what happened that Halloween.” Harry started, “And most of what magical Britain knows is wrong as I explained back at Hogwarts. Here are the facts that I know irrefutably: Peter Pettigrew, not Sirius Black, was the secret keeper. Albus Dumbledore sent Hagrid to retrieve me from the wreckage and bring me to him. He would eventually leave me on the doorstep of my muggle aunt and uncle, a pair of more ardent magic haters you will never find. Sirius and my guardian retrieved me before they realized I was there and removed a rather dark magic trace from me that Dumbledore left on me. When Sirius pursued and caught up with Pettigrew, he faked his own death and framed Sirius. When the aurors arrived, they stunned Sirius and he woke up in Azkaban. There is no record of a trial anywhere in the Ministry of Magic, yet everyone ‘knows’ he betrayed my parents. Their will was suppressed by the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, a document in which both the identity of the secret keeper and a clear list of who was to take me in was listed. Care to guess who the Chief Warlock was? Who also happened to be a witness to that document?”

“Dumbledore,” Hermione said softly, and Harry could see her respect for him, and possibly persons of authority in general, crumbling before his eyes.

“Yes,” Harry confirmed, “Now one thing you should know, Sirius isn’t all together upstairs. It took over six years to plan and execute his escape, and the conditions were far from ideal. He mostly spends time as Padfoot these days.

“Padfoot?” Hermione asked, confused.

“His Animagus form, a large black Grim.” Harry explained, “He actually works for Death, as a Grim. But should you encounter him, be warned he has a twisted sense of humor. Now, let’s get this summer’s training figured out, you’re going to need the structure I suspect.”

And she did. She stayed for two and a half weeks, and in the end she still felt overwhelmed. The first day was a relaxation day, but the next started an intense education and familiarization course that left her feeling drained. Hogwarts would be a vacation compared to what she went through.

First thing in the morning was calisthenics. Harry explained that while magic was not directly related to physical fitness, it did have an effect. A fit wizard could cast longer and generally survive a battle longer than a wizard who wasn’t. Not only did endurance play a factor, but a fit wizard could dodge, while one who wasn’t had to shield, letting their opponent continue their assault. So each morning, they stretched, limbered up, and ran on the beach. By the end of the visit they were running around the whole island together.

After breakfast began spellwork, no, that wasn’t the right term. Magic-craft. It wasn’t spellwork because half the exercises weren’t spells at all, and most didn’t use a wand. Harry and Sir, as she was told to call him, explained that a wizard didn’t have to use a wand, but it did help focus the energy used. Expanding on the questions she’d been asked over the last term, she began to learn what was commonly referred to as wandless magic.

The thing that made all magical creatures different from their mundane counterparts was their connection to the magic field. Now most only ever learned to use their own magic, the magic they generated. This is why wands were so important to most users, it allowed for more efficient focusing of their internal magic. It was also why the matching of wand and wizard was so important. A mismatched wand required more energy to cast through, as it was incompatible. Staves were similar but not really. A staff was designed to pull some from the ambient magic field, wild magic, to aid the caster. This was both good and bad. Good because it was easier to cast because it took less of a casters personal reserve. It was also very bad because, unlike a wand, it was generally not a true focus so it could be less accurate, almost sloppy at times.

Wandless magic could work two ways, internal or external. Internal was what most that did learn wandless did, they expended their internal magic the same as they would a wand. While helpful that they did not require a focus to accomplish magic, because of the lack of focus, it took more control and more effort. Most never learned because of the mental discipline required. External, what she was being taught, was simpler and much, much harder. Easier because in the end it used even less energy than a wand, so could be used near indefinitely without exhausting the caster. The down side was the initial investment. External used one's own magical reserve to connect to and influence the wild magic around them. 

Harry compared it to soccer, which made Hermione giggle the first time he did. A wand wizard could do one thing, focus on one thing at a time. They were a single player, one that could play any position, but only one at a time. A wizard using external wandless, was the coach. It took a lot of time and effort in training that team, but once they started to play, he only had to give them general instructions to follow and they did the rest. Plus, since he wasn’t playing, he didn’t get as tired.

So, from breakfast until lunch, every day, she worked on finding, touching, melding with, and influencing wild magic.

The afternoons varied, for the first two weeks, Harry helped her with her Occlumency and Animagus meditation. Every third afternoon they took a break and enjoyed the beach. 

Hermione was allowed to share Harry’s meditation one day in the second week, and meet Blitz, his animagus. Sir had helped her cast legilimency on Harry, which only worked because Harry invited her in. Once she was in his mind, he began his meditation. Hermione watched in awe as the blackness she’d originally inhabited faded, a windswept desert replacing it. Sand swirled around her as she watched cacti grow from the hard dirt of the desert floor. Towers of stone rose around them as mesas and pillars formed. She dodged a tumbleweed just as Harry stood up and smiled at her. He welcomed her to his animagus’s home, and asked her what she thought. Wonder filled her as she told him how amazing this was. He laughed, then showed her his form. 

Rather than the snake or common desert bird she’d expected, it was even more amazing. He made her climb one of the nearby mesas, claiming it was the best place to interact with him. Groaning at the effort, even though it was pure mental it _felt_ like they climbed a mountain. Atop the plateau, Hermione stared out over the landscape in awe of its beauty. Then a giant shadow passed over them, but she couldn’t see what had caused it. Thunder crashed, and Hermione looked, but saw no clouds.

“Harry,” she asked nervously, “what’s happening…”

Then she screamed in fright as a giant landed in front of them. Harry braced her, keeping her from fleeing and turned her to get a good look at the creature. Standing tall, well over 3 meters from tail feathers to beak, the giant silver and gold bird crooned softly. She saw it had not one pair of wings but three, one behind the other, each about half the spread of the one above. Two long tails trailed behind his traditional tail feathers, arcs of electricity danced on his feathers and between the trailing tails. Large intelligent eyes stared back at her as the sun glistened off his hooked beak.

“Hermione, Blitz,” Harry grinned, gesturing between the two, “Blitz, Hermione.”

“He’s… you’re beautiful.” She’d finally stammered to the Thunderbird before her. “This is incredible Harry.”

The meeting that day in his mindscape, and later flying on Harry’s back over the beach in his form, had been all the encouragement she needed to alleviate her discouraged attitude over her own transformation. Besides, she really liked Blitz; flying with him made her forget her fear of flying. And his electric arcs tickled.

The last day however, had been the most unusual one. It was just after lunch, and by agreement, this was a relaxation day, when Sir had arrived.

“They wish to meet you, Miss Granger,” The Gentleman said softly, as if bestowing a great honor.

“They?” She asked, puzzled at Harry’s reaction to sit up straight and alert.

“The ones who told Harry to stay close to you,” Sir told her, causing her to realize these were the ‘friends’ that told Harry they had so much potential. Following Sir back up to the house, he was surprised to see three ladies waiting for them. One was very young, her age about the same as her own, with blonde tresses and blue eyes. The second was older, she guessed in her thirties, and very pregnant. Her curly black hair contrasted her emerald green eyes. The last was older, greying with a power behind the apparent infirmary as she leaned on a cane.

“You are here.” They spoke as one. “Two become one and one leads all. Power dawns and magic roils. Patience, dedication, love, loyalty. Embrace these and prevail, deny them and fail.”

Everyone stared in shock at the pronouncement from the trio. Hermione’s mind was working a thousand miles an hour and finally it made some connections.

“You’re aspects of the Fates, aren’t you?” she asked in awe, pointing to each in turn, the child first. “Possibility, youth and innocence.” The pregnant woman, “Potential, what we could be and what we are.” The elderly lady, “Progression, knowledge and what we can become or strive for.”

Three heads nodded as one, then they turned and walked from the house. Silence reigned for a long time, and finally Hermione turned to the gentleman beside her.

“Sir, who are you?”

“Hermione…” Harry said softly, then paused as the gentleman nodded in approval. “He has had many names over many years. Thanatos, Nergal, Iapetus, Odin, Osiris, Erlik, Ankou, Yanlou, The fourth Horseman, the Keeper of Souls, The Judge of Princes, and the Grim Reaper.” Harry saw her disbelieving look, and continued, “Yes, Hermione, this is Death himself.”

It was a long time before Hermione recovered her wits.

September first came, cutting the summer to an end, and Hermione looked up from her book as the Hogwarts express came to a stop at Hogsmeade station. Looking up she saw the glittering lights of Hogwarts on the cliff above the Black Lake and sighed. Her mental shields were much improved, but not enough for Death’s secrets, so a compromise was made. When she crossed into the wards of Hogwarts, the information would become sealed in her mind. She would know she knew a secret, and that she agreed to have it sealed, but not what it was. 

She sighed again as she contemplated the year to come. It would be her second at Hogwarts, and hopefully it would be better than the first. She still had the same extra classes with Professor McGonagall this year as she did at the end of last, plus her additional wandless studies, which the Professor would be unable to help her with. At least she should be able to do what she wanted to. 

She had three goals, outside of staying first in her class. One, find her animagus form, not necessarily change, but to find it. Two, increase the strength of her mental defenses. She was decent with Occlumency, and planned on using her animagus mindscape as the basis of her own, but this year would be about Occlusion. Each mind was unique, and once entered, assualtable. Occlusion was the art of hiding that mind from being found in the first place, and mastering that, or at least gaining the ability, was her goal. The third was both easier and harder, for her last goal was to match her wandless work with or exceed the wand work they performed in class, possibly even the extra work she planned on doing. 

It was going to be a long year.


	7. September 5, 1992

**September 5, 1992**

Hermione stared at the “quiz” in front of her, shocked at its contents. When she had first seen the book list for the year, and the extensive list of Defense Against the Dark Arts texts, it had seemed excessive. She had given them the benefit of the doubt though; if this Lockhart fellow was as good as it seemed, he was probably a wealth of knowledge about dark creatures. Then she found out he was their new Professor. Ok, she had thought, a bit self-serving to put your own books on the booklist, but again, plausible. Finally, she had started to read them, as she had not had time on the island with Harry to read ahead as much as she usually did.

Utter Codswallop. Fit only for Kindling. For the first time Hermione could remember, she actually wished to damage a book. Multiple books in fact. Every one of Professor Lockhart's books was completely useless as a textbook, though she had to admit they weren’t bad for _fiction _books.

Now the “quiz” in front of her added to her disillusionment. It was supposed to be a test to see where people were, and how much they remembered from the books, if they’d read them. They’d had similar assessments in other classes, though those had been about pertinent material, not “What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?”. Flipping quickly through the sheets of the quiz, she confirmed that not a single question actually dealt with defensive magic. In fact, the closest one asked about the best hair care spell to ensure a proper dashing look.

Slowly, an idea formed in her head. During the summer she had been introduced to Harry’s mischievous side, the one that liked a good prank. Channeling that aspect, she began to answer the questions:

What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color? _Gold, like the Galleons he fleeced from all the students by requiring them to buy all his useless books._

What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s life ambition?  _To make as much gold as possible from his lies._

She continued to answer the quiz in this vain. Once completed, she smirked as Lockhart collected them and started to go over it before the class. The green look he got when he got to her quiz was rather amusing.

It seemed like life was out to get Hermione, for the next several Defense classes were like the first. Pointless. Useless. Utter tripe. Eventually she just borrowed a couple defense textbooks from Professor McGonagall and started to read them in class. She made it to the beginning of October before that was interrupted.

She looked up with surprise when Lockhart started in about dangerous creatures and how he was going to introduce them to some. Her surprise was quickly replaced by amusement when the “dangerous creatures” turned out to be Cornish Pixies. They could be troublesome, yes, but not terribly dangerous. She went back to her reading until she was interrupted by a pixie, several in fact, trying to steal her book. If there was one thing known throughout Hogwarts, it was you do not mess with Hermione Granger’s _books_.

She noted with satisfaction that the leader of that particular group of pixies made a satisfying thump as it hit the door that a wandless Lockhart had disappeared behind, as he ran from the swarm he had unleashed on the class. Looking around, she caught the last of her Slytherin classmates being led in full retreat out the door by Draco Malfoy, as well as several Gryffindors swatting the offending creatures with their books. _Hmmm_, she thought, _maybe they weren’t totally useless after all_. Deciding she wasn’t going to get any more reading done with all these pesky creatures around, she drew her wand and ended the skirmish.

“Immobulus.” She called, sweeping her wand around the room, freezing classmates and pixies alike. Then she moved through the room, picking up the immobile pixies and stuffing them back in their cage. Once that was done, she went around and unfroze each classmate before picking up her bag and walking out of the classroom. She made it about five steps down the hall before a trio of other professors, led by Professor McGonagall came hurrying up the corridor.

“Ah, Miss Granger,” Minerva said hurriedly, “what is this about creatures loose in the Defense classroom?”

“Professor Lockhart brought in Cornish Pixies,” Hermione said evenly. “Let a bunch loose and then left the room. I’m not sure what his intention was, but the result was no instructor and a bunch of unruly creatures interrupting my reading. They tried to take my book, so I smote those ones and stuffed the rest back in their cage.”

“Smote?” Professor Babbling, the Runes instructor, asked.

“They tried to take my book,” Hermione said defensively.

“An action I don’t doubt was deserving of a good smiting,” McGonagall agreed, suppressing a grin. “And you said the rest are back in their cage?”

“All the ones that were in the room are,” Hermione confirmed, beginning to move down the corridor, “I’m not sure if any made it out before I got them.”

After that day, Lockhart contented himself to making the class reenact scenes from his books, something Ron Weasley excelled at. Hermione hated it because all the screaming and yelling kept interrupting her reading, but since she was never called upon, it was a worthwhile arrangement.

Then came Halloween. Hermione disliked the traditional holiday feasts, and she especially disliked Halloween. Between what had happened with the troll last year, and talking Harry through his melancholy over the anniversary of his parents murders through their journals this year, she simply wasn’t in a celebratory mood. 

This year, instead of attending the feast, she was invited to, and had accepted, attending Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party. It was definitely an interesting learning experience, but not a total loss as several of the ghosts had interesting stories of their lives. The walk back afterward however, showed another reason Halloween must be cursed.

She had just made it to the second floor, heading back to Gryffindor tower when she found it. Hanging from a wall sconce by her tail, was Mrs. Norris. Stepping forward, her feet splashing in water from a nearby bathroom, when she heard it. The feast was over, and the crowds were approaching. Knowing how the fickle attitudes of her fellow students were, she quickly decided her course of action.

“Help! Someone come quickly!” She called, and moved to examine the cat.

“Miss Granger?” A slightly puffing Professor asked, “What seems to be the matter?”

“It’s Mrs. Norris,” Hermione explained, pulling the very stiff cat from the sconce and handing it to the professor. “She’s… I’m not sure what happened, but she’s stiff as a board.”

“The transmorgifian torture curse,” Lockhart declared from the gathering crowd. “A pity I wasn’t here, I know just the counter curse.”

“You killed her!” Filch cried, moving towards Hermione. “You killed her and now I’ll kill you!”

“Argus!” McGonagall stopped the elder caretaker with a withering glare. “She did no such thing.”

“Indeed, it appears she is merely petrified,” Dumbledore declared, looking up from his examination. A shocked expression crossed his face before he let slip an “Oh my.”

Turning, the gathered crowd saw what had alarmed the headmaster. On the wall, written in blood, was a message:

**The Chamber of Secrets has been opened**

**Enemies of the heir beware**

“They mean you mudblood,” Draco Malfoy declared in a self-important tone. “They’ll be coming for you next I expect.”

“And I expect you in my classroom at 7pm sharp for the next week Mr. Malfoy.” Professor McGonagall said sternly, “Such language is not tolerated here and you are well aware of that fact, perhaps these detentions will hammer this point home.”

“In any case, it is late, off to bed with you.” Dumbledore dismissed everyone.

“What about my cat?” Filch asked. “I want to see some punishment.”

“Who would you have me punish?” Albus countered. “Miss Granger did not petrify Mrs. Norris, nor do we have any idea who did. For now, we merely need to wait. I do believe Professor Sprout’s second year classes are studying Mandrakes, once they mature they can be harvested and a restorative draft created. Until then, we just need to be patient.”

That night Hermione wrote to Harry, telling him what had occurred. She expected he wouldn’t be happy but was a little put out at his response the next morning. “You and Aunt Minerva, Astronomy tower, 11pm, tonight.” was all it said. 

So, it was then that the pair were waiting upon the tallest tower, in the middle of a blisteringly cold November, in the Scottish Highlands. Wrapped well in their cloaks, as well as liberally set warming charms, they waited. They had only been waiting about ten minutes before Blitz landed beside them, ruffling his feathers as he settled, then shifted.

“Sorry I kept you waiting; Thunderbirds hate the snow,” Harry said, bracing as Hermione hugged him hard. When she finally relented, he gave McGonagall one as well before they moved to the relative shelter of the observation dome.

“Aunt M,” Harry said, his tone serious, “how sure are you that the Chamber really has been opened?”

“I have no Idea,” Minerva admitted. “It’s been fifty years since it was supposed to have been opened before, and even then, it was never proved. I still refuse to believe it was Hagrid.”

“Hagrid?” Hermione asked, shocked.

“Yes, he was implicated in the death of a student, Miss Warren.” McGonagll explained. “I never believed it, Hagrid had a pet Acrumantula, not exactly a good thing, but not what killed Miss Warren. The ministry of the time was unable to prove he killed Miss Warren but still snapped his wand and expelled him. They felt that since the attacks stopped, they were right. Oddly enough, he stayed on as an assistant to the groundskeeper, so he never actually left Hogwarts”

“So basically, they had to be seen doing something and he was a scapegoat.” Harry summarized. “About what I expected. I’m currently looking for anything that might give us a clue as to what the creature is and where the chamber is. I’ll let you both know what I find.”

“Of course,” Minerva said, then noticed the look on Harry’s face. “Something else Harry?”

“I,” Harry hesitated. “I just hate knowing you two are here, in danger, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I know lad,” McGonagall soothed. “You’ve never had to deal with leaving a friend behind, ‘tis not something anyone should get used to.”

“Hermione,” Harry looked at his friend, “please be careful, and if you even think there’s danger,_ run_. You’re my first friend, I don't know what I would do if I lost you.”

“I’ll be careful Harry,” Hermione told him, “but I won’t abandon anyone just to save myself if I can help them, that’s not who I am.”

“I guess I can understand that,” Harry reluctantly agreed. “I do have one other thing for you though.” He pulled out a pair of necklaces, each with a simple pendant. Hermione’s was a heart, and Minerva’s was a small cat. They were simple and seemed innocuous, like you’d find at any store.

“You little rouge. I’m a bit old for you, aren’t I?” Minerva teased, accepting the necklace with a grin.

“I’m also too young for that in general Aunt M,” Harry responded. “But these aren’t just necklaces. Tap them with your wand and I'll be alerted that you need me, but only do it if it’s an emergency. Push your magic into them and speak ‘Emergency SOS’ and you’ll be portkeyed to the island. It includes a ward buster charge that should get you out from under even Hogwarts wards, but every magical in Britain _will _know you did it.”

“Oh my!” Minerva covered her mouth in shock.

“How?’ Hermione asked. “Hogwarts is supposed to be effectively impenetrable.”

“Not sure to be honest. The fact that it’s a dimensional portkey helps apparently.” Harry cocked his head, as if listening to something only he could hear. “Dumbledore is coming, I need to leave.”

“You be careful too Harry,” Hermione said as she hugged him once more. “I can’t lose you either.” 

With a grin back at the women, Harry turned and leapt off the balcony, transforming into Blitz mid fall and winging his way away. Hermione had just lost sight of him as the door behind them opened and Professor Dumbledore came hurrying out.

“Ah, Minerva, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore spoke as he approached. “What are you doing up here?”

“I could ask you the same thing Albus,” McGonagall countered.

“Do I need a reason?” 

“Do we?” Hermione asked. “But if it is really that important, we were having a discussion about situations similar to what led to my being in a bathroom with a troll last year.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Miss Granger?” the Headmaster asked, confusion filling his tone.

“Basically, I was having a pity party due to the rampant bigotry and harassment of students by both staff and other students.” Hermione snapped, crossing her arms. “Since then, Professor McGonagall has taken to meeting with me periodically to ensure I'm coping. I also think she uses it as an information gathering session on who is doing what and to who, though she’s never confirmed that.”

“I see.” The Headmaster seems taken aback at the vitriol in her tone. “And it helps?”

“It does,” Hermione confirmed, then yawned. “Oh my, what time is it?”

“It is quite late I’m afraid,” Albus informed her sagely, “off to bed with you, you can continue this conversation another time if you must.”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed, turning to McGonagall. “Goodnight Professor.”

“Good night Miss Granger,” Minerva said kindly, watching the young witch head off to her dorm.

“Recruiting spies early I see,” Albus teased.

“Not so much.” Minerva disagreed, turning to face out over the grounds. “She is an exceptionally bright and powerful young witch Albus, but we hover on the cusp of losing her.”

“You sound as if that would be some great tragedy,” Albus stated in disbelief. “Granted that every child is special, but one child more or less is not the end of the world. Even the bright ones can fail to adjust”

“Is that why you spend every spare moment searching for young Mr. Potter?” Minerva sniped. “In any case, it’s not just her of which I speak. Since the end of the war, nothing has changed Albus. The pure blood bigotry runs rampant, and it’s fostered right here in our halls. Every muggleborn, and a lot of half-bloods too, are ridiculed for their parentage.”

“A bit of childhood rivalry is good,” Dumbledore waved her concerns off, conveniently ignoring her jibe about Harry. “It is part of growing up.”

“Is it part of growing up to have one of the Professors be the biggest bully in the school?” Minerva snapped angrily as she turned to glare at Dumbledore now, “And don’t give me your ‘Severus has my complete trust’ line, just because you trust him doesn’t mean he’s a good teacher. Hell, you trusted _Mundungus _back during the war but never made _him _a teacher here.”

“Be that as it may, Severus is one of the very few British potions masters.” Dumbledore sighed, hating the rehashing of the same old arguments. “There simply hasn’t been one as proficient as him at brewing in years.”

“Because he helps his house cheat and sabotages the others.” Minerva was sure steam would soon be pouring from her ears. “I’ve shown you the points record. He took points from Mr. Longbottom just for _breathing_.”

“And you returned those points the next day.”

“He _earned_ those points I gave him. I didn’t reverse Severus’s deduction!”

“Enough Minerva, this is not a discussion I wish to continue with you.” Albus stated firmly, “We have had it before, and I have given you all the reasons you need.”

“No, you’ve given all the reasons you want to give, but not the real ones.” Minerva huffed. “But I know that’s all you will give. One of these days, Albus, your ways are going to bite you in the rear and I just hope you are humble enough to admit your error.”

Minerva left him there atop the tower, staring after her and wondering just what she meant.


	8. January 15, 1993

**January 15, 1993**

“Welcome everyone. Can you all see me? Can you hear me? Good.” Lockhart called loudly, jumping up on the stage. “Welcome to the first duel club meeting. The headmaster has graciously allowed me to start this little club to give everyone some extra tuition in these dark times.”

Hermione tried not to snort as she listened to the ponce. She hadn’t intended on coming but had been dragged by her dorm mates. Now she sat towards the back of the Great Hall, which had been converted to house the club. The house tables had been cleared, and in the center of the hall a long platform erected, a circular area at each end. She wondered why the dumbbell shape was used, but she guessed wizards were lazy and didn’t move much. 

She returned to her perusal of the library book on potion interactions she brought with her, while Lockhart droned on. She did look up and watch as Professor Snape, who looked about as happy to be here as she did, took the stage to assist in a ‘demonstration’. She had to shake her head a little as Lockhart promised they’d still have their potions professor tomorrow. _Of course we will,_ she thought to herself, _He’s an arrogant bigot, but he is still competent, unlike you._

Watching Lockhart act superior and swagger to the end of the platform, she noted the looks on the students faces. The Slytherins were just as arrogant as their head of house, while the rest seemed torn. Do they support the hated Snape in trouncing Lockhart? Or the blonde pretender over the head of the snakes? Most of the girls seemed to prefer Lockhart’s golden locks over Snape's grease, but she knew the outcome was predetermined.

Sure enough, a flashy spell from Lockhart, a simple counter from Snape followed by his own attack saw Lockhart flying back off the platform.

“Excellent demonstration,” Lockhart declared, bounding back up onto the platform. “Though I must admit it was rather obvious what you were intending. I could have blocked if I had wanted to, but thought it better to show them it was ok to get hit.”

“Of course,” Snape sneered. “Perhaps a better demonstration would be some of their own? Someone from my house perhaps? Malfoy, get up here.”

“Smashing idea,” Lockhart agreed readily, looking around. “Granger, let’s have you work with Mr. Malfoy.”

“Must I?’ Hermione asked, exasperated. “It wouldn’t be much of a challenge.”

“Of course, a mudblood like you couldn’t challenge me,” Malfoy snorted. “Tell you what, I'll let you have the first spell, then you can say you at least did something.”

“I meant no challenge for me,” Hermione stated simply, setting her book down and making her way to the platform. “Perhaps I’ll just see how pure your blood really is Malfoy.”

“10 points from Gryffindor, Granger.” Snape snarled.

“For what?”

“Verbal abuse of a fellow student.” Snape’s sneer grew.

“So it’s 10 points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin then? After all, Malfoy did throw the first insult.”

“I didn’t hear any.” Snape actually grinned. “Now begin the duel.”

Stepping off the platform, Snape turned to watch. Never taking her eyes off Malfoy, Hermione bowed her head slightly, as the protocol dictated. Malfoy just sneered and took up a flamboyant attack pose. 

“Well, are you going to just stand there or are you going to actually cast something?” Hermione jeered, standing casually yet coiled and ready. Her wand was out, but held loosely in her hand and still by her side.

“I told you you could have the first cast,” sneered Malfoy.

“If I cast, the duel will end.” Hermione stated matter-of-factly, “So as not to deprive everyone of the example of how a ‘Pureblood’ duels; please, cast away.”

“Uppity mudblood bitch,” Draco snarled, casting a cutting curse at her. Before the spell even made it across the platform he was celebrating.

“I thought this was a duel, not a fashion show.”

Startled, Draco spun back to his opponent. She was still standing there, not a mark on her. Cursing to himself, he sent another at her. This time though, he watched as it sped towards her, and just before it hit, she swayed out of the way. Angrily he started casting again and again, throwing curse after curse at Hermione. She dodged about half of them. The rest she just let sail past as in his anger, Draco’s aim was getting very poor.

“Such a waste,” Hermione muttered, watching a particularly errant spell almost hit a bystander. “Let’s see, what shall I do? Oh, I know!”

Hermione muttered under her breath, and a shield appeared in front of her, stopping every spell Draco was throwing to get deflected. Smiling, she sat down and pulled out her book. Opening to her bookmark, she began to read as spell after spell impacted her shield.

“Er, Miss Granger? The point of a duel is to defeat your opponent.” Lockhart said confused, as Snape was berating the seemingly incompetent Malfoy.

“Fine,” Hermione huffed, closing her book again. Standing up, she returned her attention to Draco. “This is where you should shield yourself.”

“From whaaaaaaa-” Draco started, then was cut off as a disarming hex and a binding hex hit him in rapid succession. He was flung from his feet and impacted the wall behind him, cutting off his scream.

“Told you you should have shielded.” Hermione muttered hopping off the platform. Picking up her things she made for the door.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” Snape demanded, “Fifty points from Gryffindor for your assault on another student and a week's detentions.”

“For participating in a duel a Professor told me to?” Hermione asked, “First you make me take part, then when I do as you want, I get in trouble for it? I think not. I have plenty of witnesses that say I avoided it until prompted to by a professor. And when I did I used much less harmful hexes than my opponent.”

“Not that I saw.” Snape sneered.

“Then you obviously need glasses,” Hermione retorted. “Should you press this, I will fight it. I have plenty of witnesses, I have the school charter on my side, you will lose. And remember, if I demand a review, _all_ actions will be evaluated. So your precious Godson's insults, as well as your own, will be part of the evidence. So it’s your choice professor. Let it go, or go down in flames.”

Not bothering to wait for a reply, Hermione spun on her heel and flounced out the door.

“Bloody hell Hermione!” Hermione looked up as the book she was reading was pulled down. Standing before her, face excited, was the redheaded menace of Gryffindor; Ronald Weasley.

“What do you want, Weasley?” She asked acidly, pulled her book back and cringing as she saw the greasy smudges where Ron had manhandled her book.

“How did you do that? It was _brilliant_.”

“Simple, I practice and I study, which _you _are interrupting.” She pulled out her wand and started cleaning the page. 

“You have to teach me that,” Ron demanded, missing the hint and the fact that both Neville and Dean were now inching away.

“I do, do I?” Her arch expression now clueing Seamus into the danger.

“Yeah, it’ll be brilliant to do something like that to Malfoy. Can you imagine the look that git’s face?” Ron boasted.

“I’m sure,” Sarcasm dripped from Hermione’s words, “fine, first and only lesson, don’t be there. Which is what I intend to do now, not be here.”

“What?” Ron looked confused as she stood, then made his biggest mistake: He grabbed her arm to stop her. “Wait!”

Before he could finish speaking, Ron felt pain in his hand as Hermione twisted it, wrenching his wrist and popping three bones. Next his shoulder screamed as her wrist twist carried up, partially dislocating it. Next he was flying, propelled backwards by a fist of force which cracked three ribs. As he slammed into the wall of the common room, he felt spells hit him, but the crack his skull took when he hit meant he didn't feel them as blackness took him.

Families have rules, one of which is that if you mess with one, you mess with them all. For some families it’s to a greater or lesser degree, and for most of the Weasley’s, it is greater. The twins didn’t see what triggered the fight, they only saw their brother fly across the room and Hermione Granger hit him with a multitude of spells before he hit the ground. They may not like their brother, but he was still their brother. They pulled their wands and charged.

Three minutes later, all four Weasley boys needed work by Madam Pomfrey. Ron looked like one giant blister, puss seeping from multiple places and he had spiders for fingers. The twins were now joined at the hip, literally. Their hips to their shoulders were joined like a pair of Siamese twins, plus their hair was whip like and lazily beating them. Percy was stuck upside down on the wall, his legs were that off an ass, and his arms were short stubby wings. The long nose that stretched a foot in front of him finished the look.

In the middle of the carnage, barely breathing heavy, was Hermione Granger. As the spells started to fly, her magic had flared, encompassing her. Her hair waved behind her, as if caught in a light breeze despite the fact there was no wind in the tower. Her eyes glowed and there was a sphere of electric arcs around her, preventing anyone from getting close. 

“Anyone _else _want to try?” She challenged, looking around the room at the faces peeking from behind furniture. “Anyone _else _want to demand I do things for them? Anyone want to tell me I have to do as they say, just because they say so?”

Her glare was met by shaking heads and cringes. 

“Good, now I'm going to bed, any objections?”

This time she stalked away.

Two things were all over the school by breakfast: The story of Hermione wiping the floor with Malfoy, and don’t mess with her, period, end of story. She’d even made Snape back down, and no one wanted to test her.


	9. May 20, 1993

**May 20th, 1993**

Harry jerked as his necklace heated up and began to vibrate. Swiftly, he rose from where he’d been meditating on the top of a large rock in the middle of a sea of sand. Hopping from rock to rock, avoiding upsetting the sand of the Zen garden, he made his way over to the Pagoda beside it. 

Looking up at the silhouette of Mount Fuji in the distance, he sighed with regret. If his necklace was alarming, then something had happened at Hogwarts, and his time in Japan had ended for now. He had traveled here two months ago to learn more about his parselmagic from Master Katsuma, as well as get his assistance in translating the tome he’d found belonging to Salazar Slytherin. He’d have to come back soon, he was fairly sure he was close to unlocking his Parselmouth healing talents.

_ It was sad really, _ he thought,  _ the way Britain looked at Parseltongue as an inherently evil gift, for it was one of the lightest healing magics in the known world. _ Slipping a silk robe over his linen trousers and sighed again. Moving into the hut, he found Master Katsuma working on the translation.

“Ah, Harry, perfect timing,” Katsuma greeted him. “I think I've figured your monster out.”

“You have?” Harry moved beside the elder wizard, “That’s perfect, I just got an alert from my friends and any additional information would be very helpful.”

“Not that helpful I'm afraid.” Katsuma sighed, “The creature is a specially bred Basilisk. Slytherin had a disagreement with the other founders, this was known. The difference is that according to this, it wasn’t over letting Munborn into the school, it was about when to contact them.”

“So he didn't leave in a fit?”

“I’m not sure, I haven't gotten that far yet.” He pushed the journal over to Harry, “Look here: He describes the disagreement. He wanted to take Munborn children as soon as they were identified, but the others thought it better to let them live with their parents until it was time for them to attend school. They had valid arguments, but in the end the other three outvoted Salizar.”

“So what does this have to do with the Chamber?” Harry worked his way through the text.

“One of the arguments was that taking the children early would be tantamount to kidnapping, and draw attention to them. They didn't want to have to fight the Mundanes constantly looking for their children. Salizar created his so-called monster as a protection for the school. It’s gaze merely petrifies magicals instead of kills, that’s why no one has died yet. Even named her Beatrice.”

“A student did die last time,” Harry said, confused. “But I suppose there’s no evidence that it was the creature, it could have been whoever was controlling it.”

“Good point. It’s also immune to a rooster crow, so the easy kill is out as well.” Katsuma pointed to the relevant passage. “He also created an antidote other than a restorative draught. It still needs a few unusual ingredients, and it takes a week to brew, but it’s still better than finding mature mandrakes. Or worse, growing them as that idiot in charge of Hogwarts is doing.”

“Yeah, sent a letter as an anonymous benefactor offering to donate two mature mandrakes to help back in December, the response was effectively thanks, but no thanks. We figured he didn’t want any knowledge of the attacks to get out.” Harry told him.

“Sounds like the old man.” Katsuma agreed, pulling the book back. “I’ll copy the potion down while you get your things. Once you're back I'll apparate you back to the Ministry and you can catch an international floo to wherever.”

“No need, I have a portkey already.” Harry bowed low to thank the man, “I appreciate your help translating this, it's been a big help.”

When Harry came back down with his carryall and wearing his cloak, Katsuma was waiting with a roll of parchment. Handing it to Harry, along with a case to protect it, the older man hugged him. Stepping back, but leaving his hands on Harry’s shoulders, he addressed the young man one last time.

“Make sure you come back when you can; you’re just about ready to take your healer certifications and I'd hate for our efforts to go to waste,” Katsuma chastised him.

“I will sensei.” Harry grinned, placing the cased scroll in his bag. “I probably won’t get back until next fall, depending on how things go. I’m guessing about a year to test, then another for the practical work?”

“Something like that,” Katsuma confirmed with a nod, “depends on how much time you can devote to it.”

“That is always the question,” Harry teased, then smiled at the old man. He closed his eyes, relaxed, and pushed his magic into his necklace. With a tug behind his navel, and a twisting turning sensation beyond description, he was gone.

  
  
  
  


Harry staggered a step and fell on his face as he landed in the foyer of Death's Door, Remembering once again why he hated magical travel. Picking himself up, he left his bag where it was and raced to his room. Reaching the simple yet comfortable room, he threw open his closet and pulled out a pair of dragonhide pants, tunic, dragonhide vest, and the cloak Death had given him. He changed quickly and double-checked he had his wand and staff secure but ready.

His father had apparently had the original version of this cloak, and for some reason had let Dumbledore borrow it to study. It had yet to be returned. This cloak had many of the same properties, with one or two others that the original didn’t have. Like the fact that while wearing it, he was completely invisible to the Hogwarts wards.

Grabbing the portkey he had for the Forbidden Forest, he raced back to the foyer and pulled out the scroll case. Tucking it into his belt and pulling out his wand, He looked over at the Door controls. Still aligned to Japan from his departure. Realizing he might lose precious time if he realigned the door then the portkey, he activated the portkey and tried not to fall as he landed.

The issue with Death's Door was that while getting to it was relatively easy, assuming you had the necessary knowledge, getting out was much harder. Despite the ease of leaving through the doors, any other attempt to leave Death’s domain was very difficult. Death did not like guests leaving of their own volition. Now, while Harry wasn’t one of those guests, his departure using the portkey was much harder than his arrival was. Leaving always screwed with portkeys, because there was an inevitable drag as you were leaving. When that drag let go, like the rubber band or bungee cord, the portkey would snap. This made the arrival point very… approximate.

Fortunately for Harry, he didn’t fall on his ass this time. Unfortunately that was because he arrived ten feet above the top canopy of the forest and fell through it and got tangled in the lower branches. It also didn’t help that he arrived upside down.

“Next time, take the time to realign the bloody door, Potter,” Harry muttered as he extricated himself. Looking around, he noted he was also a bit closer to the castle than normal, but in this case it was a good thing. Adjusting his cloak, he began the trek to Hogwarts.

“She’s what?” Harry demanded after hearing McGonagall’s explanation.

“She has been petrified,” Minerva repeated. “She was doing her own research on what the creature could be, had an idea, and ran off to the library to confirm her suspicion. Apparently she was using a mirror to see around corners and got petrified.”

“And the response to all this has been?” Harry growled, though Minerva knew it wasn’t directed at her so much as the fact his friend was now in the hospital wing.

“Dumbledore is at a board of directors meeting now. As for the petrified students, it’ll be another month before the Mandrakes are mature enough to brew the restorative draught.”

“I can have a potion ready in a week,” Harry waved the timescale off, “I found the potion Slytherin developed for Beatrice’s gaze.”

“Beatrice?”

“Slytherin’s monster is a specially bred basilisk that will only petrify a magical being instead of killing them. He developed a potion that will restore them that doesn’t require mandrakes. Speaking of which, were you aware that Dumbledore refused an opportunity to buy a couple of mature Mandrakes for the school at a reduced cost to aid the petrified students?”

“He what?” Minerva asked, outraged, “How do you… wait, you found some didn’t you?”

“I found the supplier, yes,” Harry confirmed. “I mentioned what had happened and it was his idea to contact Dumbledore and offer to help.”

“And of course the old bastard doesn’t want to admit to needing outside help,” Minerva snarled. “Plus I doubt he wants it widely known that students are being petrified.”

“It certainly wouldn’t help his leader of the light persona.” Harry agreed. Then his expression became somber. “Can I see her?”

“Of course lad,” Minerva agreed, “come, I'll take you to her now.”

“Minerva?” Madam Pomfrey asked as they entered the Hospital wing.

“This is Harry, Hermione’s friend,” Minerva explained as Harry moved over to Hermione’s still form.

“You mean?” Poppy whispered, watching as Harry took Hermione’s hand in his.

“They are each other's only friend, he came as soon as he heard.” Minerva deflected. “Give him full access, minimum restrictions on visiting, until she is better or I tell you otherwise, understood?”

“Of course, if you say so,” Pomfrey agreed, watching the gentleness of the pair.

“I’m sorry Hermione,'' Harry whispered to his friend. “I wasn’t quick enough, wasn’t smart enough to find the answers before you got hurt. I know you decided to come back after Christmas knowing the danger, but I still feel responsible. But don’t worry, I did find the answer, I found a potion that Salizar created for this. It’ll take a week to brew, but after it’s done I’m going to end the threat to you and this school once and for all.”

Gently brushing her hair out of her face, he placed a kiss against her forehead and turned back to the older witches. Striding over, they saw the boy before them transform. It wasn’t any one thing, but many. A hardening of his expression, a straightening of his posture, a look of cold determination in his eyes. A boy had entered the room, but coming back from his friend’s bedside, that boy became a  _ warrior _ .

“I need a place where I can brew and not be disturbed.” Harry’s voice was hard, driven.

“Of course Harry,” Minerva agreed, a little startled at the change she had just witnessed. “I’ll have one of the guest quarters prepared, then seal it to all but yourself.”

“That will do,” Harry said softly, and turned and walked from the hospital wing, and despite everything it had done, both older witches felt a pang of pity for whatever had hurt his friend.


	10. May 28, 1993

**May 28, 1993**

“I told you he’d try to run,” Harry told Hermione as they entered the Defense professor’s office. The professor in question, was hurriedly packing his belongings. 

“Damn, I figured he would’ve passed out before he could leave.” Hermione sighed, then looked at the shocked  professor , who was looking at them still holding a stack of shirts. “Do I still get some credit for calling that he’d piss himself?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed, then flicked a mild banishing charm at the professor, causing him to sit down hard in his chair.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hermione demanded hotly. “You are the  _ Defense _ professor, supposedly the one best educated to deal with dangerous situations. Look at everything you’ve faced in your books, this monster should be a walk in the park for you.” 

“Terribly sorry, just received a very important owl, must leave immediately,” Lockhart informed them, moving to continue packing. “Very Urgent.”

“I see,” Harry said playing along, “I guess that makes sense, where are you heading?”

“What?” Gilderoy paused, then continued, “Oh, Australia, invasion of dire polar bears. Nasty creatures.”

“Yeah, for anyone in the  _ northern _ hemisphere, where they’re indigenous,” Hermione pointed out. “The southern hemisphere, where Australia is, is safe from them.”

“Did I say Australia?” Lockhart sounded even more nervous now, “I meant Alaska.”

“You mean you’re running.” 

“I prefer to think of it as fleeing from certain death,” Lockhart admitted, then frowned. He glanced over at Harry who was pretending butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “An honesty hex? Really?”

“Least we know if you’re telling the truth or not,” Harry replied. “You boasted to the teachers you knew where the entrance to the chamber was, do you?”

“Of course not, if I did, I'd have done everything I could to seal the blasted thing.” Lockhart snapped, then turned to his belongings again. He shuffled for a moment then withdrew his wand. “Now I can't let you two remember any of this, so…” He trailed off as he faced two wands trained straight at him. 

“So that’s how you do it, huh? Memory charms?” Harry asked, then moved quickly out of the way as the door slammed open, then slid behind to prevent whoever had just come in from seeing him.

“Professor, you have to help my sister.” Ron demanded, ignoring the wand pointed at him. “You gotta get her out of the chamber.”

“Obliviate!” Lockheart cast loudly, trying to catch all three students with his charm. Unfortunately, Harry knew many magics, including a reflective shield that bounced the memory deletion charm right back at Lockhart, followed closely by Hermione’s return Stupify. Ron was cowering on the floor.

Picking himself up, Ron tried to look confident and heroic as Hermione checked the drooling professor. Swaggering over, he cockily commented on how Hermione was lucky he was there to save her.

“Ron, you’re an idiot,” Hermione said shortly. “He’s stunned, and probably caught the reflected Obliviate.”

“I’m an idiot? Who’s the one that stunned the only one that knew where the entrance to the chamber was? Everyone else is dead or in the chamber,” Ron defended himself hotly.

“Dead?” Hermione said with a far away look, “Of course, there was a student that died last time. What if she never left?”

“Stupify.” Hermione looked over as Ron slumped onto the floor, then looked back at Harry. He shrugged as she cocked an eyebrow, “You know he’d only get in the way.”

“True, though now I don’t get to do it.”

“You can take the credit for it.”

“I will, but it’s not the same. Come on, let’s go talk to a ghost about a monster.”

It took them only a few minutes to make their way to the second floor girls’ loo.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, stepping cautiously into the room. “Why are we here?”

“Moaning Myrtle.”

“Who?”

“Me,” an eerie voice said from behind him, and he jumped a little as a dark haired ghost with glasses floated through him. “I’m Moaning Myrtle.”

“No,” Harry said firmly, shaking his head, “that is what others call you now, who were you when you were alive? Who are you really?”

“You…” the ghost paused, “You’re the first one to ask me that. I’m Myrtle Warren.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Warren.” Harry did a slight bow to the ghost, who curtsied back. “Now I know it’s awfully rude, but another's life may be at stake. How did you die?”

“Well it wasn’t very interesting,” Myrtle mumbled. “I was crying in that stall over there, cause people had been pulling my hair all day, when I heard a voice. It wasn’t speaking anything I understood, just kind of hissing. And it was a boy's voice. So I opened the stall door to tell him to get out when I saw a pair of big yellow eyes, and then, nothing. When I woke up, I was floating above my body, a ghost.”

“Where did you see them?”

“There, by those sinks.” The ghost pointed to a set of sinks, and started to move away.

“Myrtle?” Harry asked, “I’m sorry you had to think about that, but can I ask you a favor?”

“What do you want?”

“If what I suspect is there really is, we’ll be going into a part of the school no one has been into in decades. If we’re not back in an hour, could you find professor McGonagall and tell her the entrance to the chamber is in this bathroom, and is protected by parselmagic? And tell her we went to stop it?”

“I suppose I can.”

“Thank you Myrtle,” Hermione said, “and I'm sorry I never stopped others from calling you that name.”

“It’s ok, I've heard what they call you too.” Myrtle placed a ghostly cold hand on Hermione’s shoulder, then disappeared through the wall.

“What do they call you?’ Harry asked, concern lacing his voice.

“It’s not important right now Harry,” Hermione deflected. “What’s important is to find this entrance and save Ginny Weasley.”

“I’m not going to forget this you know,” Harry reminded her, moving over to the sinks Myrtle had indicated. It took a few minutes, but he eventually found a sink that was different from the others; it had a small serpent etched into the faucet.

“Clever.” 

“What is?” Hermione asked, moving closer.

“Have you ever heard of Parseltongue?” Harry asked, taking a small step back. At her shake of the head, he explained. “There are numerous magical languages. Latin is one of the most generalist languages, allowing you to cast a bit of everything, while others are better for various things. Native American spell languages are best for communion with spirit and magic. Most African dialects are more adept to natural magics, elemental stuff. Parlselmagic is best for healing.” He paused, contemplating how much time he had to explain, then pressed on, “It’s also the language of snakes.”

“Snakes are healers?” Hermione’s incredulity was evident.

“Look at the healers mark, the Caduceus. Two serpents wrapped around a winged staff? Originally it was two serpents around a Coatl. Unfortunately here in Britain it’s considered a very dark thing because several ‘dark lords’ have had the gift and abused it. Please don’t tell anyone what I'm about to do.”

“What are…” Hermione trailed off as Harry began to hiss at the sink.

**$Open$**

Hermione was startled that she understood what he had said, given that she knew it was just hissing like a snake. When the sink gave a groan and started to open outward and reveal a large hole behind it, she promised herself to stop letting things surprise her, especially when it involved Harry.

They looked into the abyss below them, the pipe that the sinks revealed disappearing into the distance. It was slimy and old. The smell wafting from it reminded Hermione of the time the trash men didn’t pick up and the bin sat out all day in the sun. The fetid stink when she’d added another bag had almost caused her to vomit. The smells coming from below were similar, but...older?

“Where ...ah.” Harry said, then hissed again.  **$Stairs$**

From the wall, slabs of stone extruded themselves, forming a spiral staircase hugging the wall and leading down into the abyss. The steps themselves were worn, but serviceable and unlike the walls, relatively clean.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, taking his hand as they tread down the path, “Why could I understand you?”

“You could?” Harry was obviously surprised by this, as he nearly missed a step when he looked over at her with wide eyes. “I’m guessing that you’ve never understood any snakes before this?”

“No, and in third grade we had a snake as a class pet.”

“Then I'm honestly not sure,” Harry admitted, raising the hand not holding hers and releasing a ball of light to float in front of them. “It’s probably something we’ll have to ask Sir this summer.”

“Okay.”

It took them about five minutes to navigate their way down the stairs, keeping away from the inner edge as it had no railing and in the process bumping into each other a lot. Both hid blushes whenever they touched, but eventually just walked shoulder to shoulder to let them have a better idea exactly where the other was. As they stepped off the last slab, Hermione had to stifle a shriek as she realized that the floor she thought was merely rocky, was actually covered in a layer of bones. Not human, but she was fairly sure just about every species of rodent was present.

“Looks like you were right,” Harry muttered, pointing further up the passage. 

Lining the side of the cavern were piles of some sort of cloth. No, they weren’t cloth Hermione realized, they were skins, giant snake skins. They moved closer and Hermione could see they weren’t as numerous as she’d thought, they were just enormous. The most intact one she could identify was at least fifteen meters long. Some looked even bigger than that one, newer too, but they were less intact.

“That’s a big snake.” Hermione murmured, looking around worriedly.

“It is,” Harry confirmed, “and assuming it is a Basilisk, it’s going to be hard to kill, especially since we can’t look at it unless we can destroy its eyes.”

“How can we do that if we can’t see it to aim?” Hermione asked. “I know your sonar spell helps, but it’s not accurate enough, at least for me.”

“It’ll be better than nothing,” Harry pointed out, stopping before a large ornate door, much like a vault door, adorned with seven snakes slithering out from a central hub. It was set into the stone around it and Harry could feel the magic sealing the chamber beyond. “Just do your best. I won’t try to convince you to leave, I know it’d just make you mad at me, but be careful, Hermione. This is one of the most dangerous creatures in existence.”

“So are you.” Hermione hugged Harry quickly, then set herself, focusing and casting her spell. “ _ Sonarium.” _

A gentle wave of magic pulsed from her, then seemed to pull back slightly. Back and forth the magic oscillated, and in her mind, Hermione could feel where things were around her, the shape of the world. She could see that stacks of snake skin behind her as a dead zone, where the magic resistant scales interfered with the field she was emitting. That was the problem with magic resistant creatures she mused, you can’t really use magic to detect them, it’s more the absence of it.

“Ready?” he asked, then, at her nod, hissed at the door.  **$open$**

There was a rumble of stone on stone, and another stone snake slithered its way around the edge of the door, each of the seven other snakes pulling back as it passed with a loud thunk. As it returned to its house in the hinge, the door shifted open just a bit. Reaching over, Harry squeezed her hand and together, they entered Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets.

The first thing that hit the pair was the smell. A thousand years of stale air and fetid decay billowed from the room. They could smell it all around them, like a lizard’s cage that never got cleaned. 

Next they felt the power from inside. It was dark, and very cruel, but powerful nonetheless. It exuded an inky cold feeling that permeated both, making them feel unclean just from its presence.

“That explains it, one of them is here,” Harry muttered softly, his wand at the ready. “We end this and it’ll be one less piece to collect.”

“One what Harry?  _ What  _ is here?”

“It’s one of Voldemort’s anchors,'' he explained as they stepped into the chamber. “That must be what has been controlling the Basilisk.”

“I’m guessing he’s a Parselmouth too?” Hermione asked, looking around the large room.

The room they entered was vast, though not as large as the Great hall, it housed an impressive array of columns and statues. Hermione felt like it was a cross between a sewer and a museum. A score of columns ran the length of the room, half on each side, with torches lit. Watery channels ran behind them, with statues of proud warrior wizards between each pillar. At the far end, a massive bust thrust out of a pool, a visage of an old, regal man.

Beside the pool were two figures, one standing, one laying on the cold stone floor. The one on the floor was smaller, the size of a first or second year. Long red hair and a pasty complexion confirmed it was Ron’s missing sister. She was laying as if she were dead; arms crossed before her, rigid, and clutching a small, black, leather bound book. The standing figure wasn’t all there, for he had the spectral look of a ghost. Standing taller, but not yet the size of a man, the boy looked like Hermione pictured a dark haired Malfoy would. His face was smooth and a happy look graced it, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His dark hair framed eyes that could freeze dragonfire, lifeless and soul sucking they turned on the pair as they entered.

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed to himself, his eyes never leaving the boy as he advanced. “Hello you dark git, I see I get to kick your ass again.”

“You know who I am?” the specter asked, shocked. “I would be sure to remember one such as yourself, so I’m afraid you are mistaken.”

“Tom Marvolo Riddle, Born 31st December, 1926.” Harry began, power beginning to radiate from him. “Graduated Hogwarts class of 1945, Slytherin, Prefect, and Head Boy. Sometime in the 1950’s you disappeared, only to return years later proclaiming yourself Lord Voldemort, a rather stupid anagram if you ask me. From there you created a pureblood movement despite being halfblood yourself.” He noted the shock on the ghosts face. “Oh yes, your parents. Merope Gaunt, daughter of the house of Gaunt, who had almost no magic due to generations of inbreeding, and Tom Riddle, a local well to do boy she potioned into loving her. In any case, you led a pure blood movement, calling your disciples Death Eaters, and very nearly succeeding in your campaign of terror before you died 31st October, 1981. Well, almost. Obviously you took some rather dark steps to stop that. I suppose that makes some sense, Voldemort does mean flight from death in french, so it fits.”

“It appears you have me at a disadvantage,” the specter said, anger and dismay tinging his tone. “Who might you be that knows so much about me?”

“I’m Harry Potter.” Harry grinned. “You know, the fifteen month old that kicked your ass? And now I shall do it again.”

“We shall see,” Tom raged, then hissed,  **$Answer my call, greatest of the Hogwarts four. Come my friend, a feast awaits you.$**

Seeing the statue's mouth open, and knowing what was coming, both Harry and Hermione closed their eyes. The overlay they had felt continued, giving them a feel for the room and its occupants. The girl and the rest of the room was as expected, just as they saw things normally when they used this spell. The spectre of Tom Riddle however, was different. Instead of the warm and life affirming feel of every living being, a myopic blackness pervaded his form. It was as if shadows imbued with pure darkest evil formed his body. The snake leaving the mouth of the statue was dark as well, but lacked the malignant malice of Riddle. It was huge, the snake, just over a meter in diameter, and over twenty long, the massive beast still felt alive to their senses. 

**$Kill them$ ** the shade of Voldemort hissed.

**$Stop! We are not your enemy$** Harry hissed, trying one last time before the battle began.

**$Kill, Rend, Hungry$ ** Was the only response, and Harry sighed. As he had feared, between the creature's extreme age and Riddle’s meddling influence, the creature was insane. 

“Harry, deal with him, I’ll deal with the snake.” Hermione called, moving behind a column and placing it between her and the Basilisk. “He’s the bigger threat.”

A cry caused everyone to hesitate. A peel of warm joy, pervading the room with a sense of rightness while Harry felt himself filled with the happy feeling he got when Hermione hugged him. Looking behind them, towards the source, Harry was almost blinded by the light of the creature entering the cavern. Where Riddle was the inky dark of death, this was the fires of life. A majestic bird, resplendent with power and love. 

The phoenix soared past him, dropping a roll of cloth and colliding with the Basilisk’s head. The two swirled and swayed, a dance between them as the basilisk snapped and missed and the phoenix slashed. Twice the Basilisk cried out in pain, and after the second, the phoenix retreated.

“Way to go Fawkes,” Hermione cheered. “Harry, he’s blinded it!”

“Here,” Harry tossed the bundled cloth to Hermione. Rolling out of the way of the charging basilisk, Harry moved towards the spectre. “Looks like it’s just you and me again Tom.”

“Again?” snarled the boy. “Perhaps, but I shall be the one to succeed this time.”

Harry rolled again as the spectre raised a wand and shot a sickly purple spell at him. Smiling slightly, Harry cast a shield spell on his arm, forming a sort of buckler, before returning fire at the spectre. Spells flew back and forth, and it wasn’t for several minutes that Harry noticed the problem. None of his spells were having any effect. Instinct was causing the ghost to shield and dodge, but it had been hit at least three times, but there was no effect.  _ What the hell? _ He thought angrily, dodging a vibrant yellow curse.  _ Wait, he has no body to affect… this isn’t- _ He cut himself off, realizing the ghost had stopped dodging and was letting every spell hit him. It had reached the same conclusion.  _ So I can’t hit him… but the wand… _

The spell was a simple one, one most learned their first year. Expelliarmus. The disarming spell. Voldemort laughed at the spell, letting it hit him, expecting it to pass right through him. And it would have, had it hit him. His wand, the wand he had taken from Ginny Weasley, was not a specter and thus, could be affected by the spell. 

“Why you…” Tom began, then paused as Harry began to chant.

A translucent sphere formed around the book  in the young girl's hands, a thin tendril of blackness connecting it to the shade of Tom Riddle. As Harry’s chant continued, the tendril grew, pulling at the ghost and sucking him into the sphere. The specter struggled, tried running, tried cursing, but inexorably was drawn into the shining silver laced orb. Finally, Tom’s entire being was encased in the ball, which began to shrink, darkening and compressing into a orb the size of a large marble, its surface entirely a soul sucking black.

“That’s four,” Harry said as he picked it up and placed it in his pocket. “Only two more to go.”

Reality came crashing back as Hermione screamed in pain. Spinning around, he took in the sights before him. The Basilisk was still, stopped in mid-strike. Hermione was defiant before it, hand thrust up and  _ into _ the beast's mouth. The tip of a sword protruding from the back of its skull, Harry noting the angle was just right to have penetrated the venom sacks as well as the brain. And the reason for Hermione’s scream, a single razor sharp fang was embedded into her arm as it entered the maw.

“Hermione!” Harry rushed over as the Basilisk fell, its fang still stuck in her arm, and they both collapsed. Harry dropped to his knees beside her. Ignoring every mental voice that said stop or wait, he shifted and grasping the fang, pulled her arm free. He didn’t even notice the small slash on the back of his hand as he rolled her to face him, eyes glistening as he saw her pain wracked face.

“Don’t cry Harry,” Hermione said quietly, pain causing her voice to tremble, “Don’t cry for me.”

“Hermione,” Harry cried, then looked up as something landed hard on his shoulder. Fawkes had returned. The brilliant crimson phoenix nudged Harry, forcing him to roll Hermione’s arm to expose the wound. Then Harry saw something not even his extensive travels had let him see before. The phoenix cried. Three, four drops landed on the gaping wound, and as each hit, the blood stopped flowing and new skin formed. The last drop hit and her arm was whole again, with not but a faint discoloration to show where she’d been injured.

“Thank you Fawkes,” Hermione said, reaching up and scratching the birds head feathers with her other hand. The hand of the injured arm was still tightly grasped in Harry’s. Fawkes preened for a second, and then butted Harry’s hand, forcing him to turn it and expose his own cut. Or where it should be. Instead of another wound, a thin line of a scar was all that was there. The confused look on the bird's face was easy to read.

“Yes, it does appear that I was cut as well, but I am immune.” Harry explained to the bird, then continued when Fawkes cocked his head at him. “My second familiar is a Vesuvian Viper. When she was young, before her own venom sacks were fully formed, she bit me on accident. I was sick for weeks, but the result was my immunity to most poisons and all venoms, even Basilisks’.”

“Harry, what is a Vesuvian Viper?” Hermione asked, relaxing into him for a minute as the cool refreshing feeling of Fawkes’s tears worked through her.

“A very rare Elemental Viper. She was a gift from Aunt M for my birthday last year. Took her almost a decade to find her, but no one actually realized just what she really was. Her bite can either be extremely painful and deadly, or healing. Biting me so young, she did both.”

“And I didn't meet her when I was on the island, why?”

“Other than she is extremely jealous?” Harry asked back, hiding his smirk. “She was visiting Master Katsuma, or more accurately, one of his snakes.”

“I see,” Hermione sighed, then hoisted herself to her feet. “Well, as interesting as this is, I suppose we need to get Ginny back up to the castle proper.”


	11. June 3rd, 1993

**June 3rd, 1993**

Hermione groaned inwardly as Professor Dumbledore entered her small room off the Hospital wing proper. She’d been a near prisoner here for almost a week after they had exited the Chamber. Madam Pomfrey was keeping her under close observation, not only for the impressive array of bruises, bumps, and scrapes she’d acquired, but because no one had ever survived a Basilisk bite before. The Headmaster had arrived back at school the day before, immediately starting to spin the whole incident; taking any good credit and avoiding all the blame. It was actually surprising how long he’d taken to come see her.

“Miss Granger,” the elder wizard began sagely, “I really must insist you tell me exactly what happened and how to enter the chamber.”

“Sir,” Hermione explained, exasperation in her tone, “there are only three people that know how to enter the chamber, and that is how it will stay. I can assure you that the monster is dead, and the culprit is gone.”

“I’m sure you think so,” the Headmaster admitted, “but it really should be inspected for anything dark that may find its way into the student body.”

“Given that only one student,” she paused, “ok, one current and one former student now, have found the entrance and been able to enter it in the last thousand years, what would traipsing down there now help? Actually, it’s only one student as they were possessing the second.”

“There are things you are not aware of,” Dumbledore informed her placatingly, “dark and dangerous things that must be countered. You must take me to the chamber.”

“No,” she shook her head defiantly, “there is nothing down there but a dead serpent. A serpent  _ you  _ failed to protect the school from. No good will come from returning to the chamber.”

“That is not for you to decide, Miss Granger.”

“As I'm the only person currently in this school who knows where it is, I'd say it is.” Hermione paused as she felt the pressure of his mental probe, “And I warn you now against using legilimency on me again without my permission. It is both illegal and will not end well for you if you try again.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about my dear.” Albus huffed at being caught. “Now since you refuse to obey my commands, I must find other means of persuading you. Good day.”

“Headmaster,” Hermione called, causing Dumbledore to stop at the doorway, “two things before you leave. First, you can return my sword to the table. Second, if you try anything with my parents, or anyone else I care about, you  _ will  _ regret it. I may not have the magic to oppose you straight up, but I know more than enough to get even with anything you try with them.”

“I have no idea what you may be referring to.” The headmaster's innocent tone fooled neither of them. “As for the sword, I'm afraid while you did pull it from the hat, it is not yours. It belongs to the school as an artifact of the founders.”

“Read your own charter, Headmaster,” Hermione snapped, silently thanking Professor McGonagall for giving her a copy. “Artifacts of the founders may present themselves to any student they choose, and they remain the property of that student until they present themselves to another, or the owner dies. It is only if the owner dies that the school may have guardianship, but not ownership, of the artifact.”

“Be that as it may be, you are still a minor, and as the Headmaster of the school I may determine if possessions are appropriate on a case by case basis.”

“Not in this case,” Hermione counterd. “Return my property or I'll call the aurors and you can explain to them why you’re taking a historical artifact from its rightful owner.”

“You do what you feel you need to, Miss Granger, and I shall do what I must.”

An hour later, while the Headmaster was at lunch, Fawkes returned the Sword of Gryffindor to Hermione. Twenty minutes after that he was back in her Hospital room, a full head of steaming rage at her for daring to trespass into his office.

“Albus!” Madam Pomfrey huffed, offense written all over her face. “Miss Granger has not left her bed, much less the room since you visited earlier.”

“She must have, she stole the sword from my office,” Albus raged.

“You mean the sword you illegally took from her an hour ago? She’s right you know, the sword is hers until such time as it presents itself to another. Perhaps this is the sword's way of reminding you of that?”

“Inconceivable.”

“Be that as it may, she has not left and you are disturbing her rest.”

* * *

It took the sword disappearing from his hiding places five more times before the Headmaster stopped trying to take the sword from her. She had often mused over whether or not he’d realized it was Fawkes bringing it back to her each time. Harry thought it was hilarious when she wrote to him about it. He did suggest reaching out with her magic and calling the sword to her the next time he took it though, maybe even while he was holding it. He told her she should be able to call it to her, now that it had presented itself to her. A little experimenting showed that she could, but by that point the Headmaster had stopped trying to take it.

The year came to a close, final exams were taken, and the leaving feast went exactly how she expected it to. She entered the hall, finally released from the Hospital wing, only to be confronted by Professor Snape. 

“Ah, Miss Granger, our resident glory hound.” The potions master sneered, “Since no one else seems to care, it falls to me to punish your actions. That will be two hundred and fifteen points from Gryffindor for your reckless self endangerment and disregard for the safety of others.”

“You know,” Hermione sighed, “it just goes to prove how petty and pointless the house point system really is. Here we have a clear case of blatant bullying, and yet nothing will happen. You decided, without any idea what actually occurred, to punish me after the Headmaster and the Deputy, who by the way,  _ do _ know what I did, both decided not to. Not only that, but you remove  _ just  _ enough points to take Gryffindor from first to fourth in the standings, thereby giving your house the victory. Funny how that works, isn’t it,  _ Professor _ ?”

“And your point is?” Snape sneered at her, as if inviting her to make an accusation he could further punish her for.

“My point is that if there is a clear abuse of authority, the point system is useless,” Hermione told him. “And the sad fact is there is a way to stop you, but the Headmaster is so far in your pocket I wonder that we can’t see the strings.”

The dungeon bat started, obviously shocked, as Hermione made her way towards the Gryffindor table without a backward glance. He saw the groans and the looks of disbelief on faces of Gryffindor students as they watched the rubies of their hourglass shoot back to the top. The glares they gave the know-it-all were everything he had hoped for, yet the lack of care in the girls eyes shook him. She deserved it for her actions earlier in the year and her recent foiling of Lucius’s plot, so he had taken the points publicly, hoping to turn her own house against her for it. She had glibly blown him off, not caring and calling him out for it.

The reception at the Gryffindor table was just as hostile as she expected after Snape’s deductions, but she had expected it. His public confrontation ensured that. She sat, noting that the greasy potions master still seemed disturbed with her replies.  _ Good,  _ she thought, _ he deserves it. _ _ Now I just have to survive tonight and the train ride home tomorrow. Then it’s two weeks on the island before my parents get back from their trip. _

The entire Gryffindor table was confused by her happy smile as they watched the house cup go to Slytherin.


	12. July 28th, 1993

**July 28th, 1993**

“Harry?”

Harry turned, looking over at Hermione as she lay stretched out on the beach. Her pale blue bikini was in stark contrast to the vibrant crimson of her companion. Upon reaching the island, Hermione had been introduced to Rowena, his viper familiar. Unusual for his familiar, Rowena had taken to his best friend quite well. It was a little disconcerting to Hermione at first, especially when the snake had shrunk herself and wound around Hermione’s braided hair, but now they truly loved their time together.

“Yes, Hermione?” he asked, his mind lingering just a bit at the emotions the sight caused in him.

“I know your godfather is supposed to be an escaped criminal in Britain, but is there a particular reason I haven’t met him yet?”

“Not that I can think of,” Harry admitted, “He comes and goes some, but mostly he just stays as Padfoot. I’m not sure why he hasn’t been around this summer.”

“Padfoot? Oh, his Grim form,” Hermione answered herself. “Wait, that scruffy black dog I saw last year is your godfather? Why does he spend so much time as a dog?”

“It has to do with his experience in Azkaban,” Harry sighed, melancholy in his voice. “While he was there, in order to protect himself from the aura of the Dementors, he spent a lot of time as Padfoot.”

“Dementors don’t affect animals?”

“Not as severely, but there is a secondary effect of that much time shifted. Basically, not only is he a bit more wild, but due to the Grims’ and the Dementors’ mutual association with death, the dementor aura permeated his mind. It’s not like he became like a dementor, just that as a human, he feels them despite not being around them. As Padfoot it’s easier for him to deal with that.”

“He feels them while human, so he stays as a grim more,” Hermione surmised. “Is there anything else that can be done? Something that can help him recover?”

“Not that we’ve found so far.” Harry rolled to fully face her, blushing as she did the same and her body responded to gravity. “We are trying several things, but no luck yet. We had just started a form of therapy using the effects of a patronus but he disappeared again before it got very far.”

“Patronus? I’ve never heard of them.”

“They are the effects of a spell, called the patronus charm. Basically it is the embodiment of happiness. It’s used to defend against Dementors,” He snorted at her look, “and yes we can start trying to teach it to you this summer.”

“Goody!” Hermione grinned, then rolled back onto her back. “Now for some more…. Harry, is that Hedwig?”

Harry looked up and sure enough, Hedwig was flying towards them from the direction of the house. Puzzled, for she had been resting and yet now carried a note. Sitting up and welcoming her as she landed, Harry gently removed the note and read it, his face falling. Turning to Hermione, his eyes distant, he handed the note to her.

**Return immediately, **

**Sirius in trouble.**

She looked at Harry, his expression hard and yet full of concern. 

“Let’s go.”

She picked up Rowena, holding her up as she shrunk herself and coiled around her hair again. Picking up her book and the bag with their snacks, she turned back as Harry slipped his shirt on, then shifted into Blitz. Carefully climbing up to sit astride him, just forward of his foremost wings, Hermione gripped carefully as Blitz lurched into the air. 

The free feeling of flight, combined with the pleasant tickles of the arcing electricity inherent in thunderbirds, had long since cured Hermione of her fear of flying. She still didn’t enjoy flying a broom, but she never tired of flying with Harry. As Blitz leveled out, soaring more than flying, Hermione relaxed her grip and sat up a bit. Letting her arms reach to each side, she savored the wind against her face, chuckling as Rowena hissed at her when her hair started to float behind her. 

Soon though, the flight was over and Blitz swooped down, flaring gently as he landed on the veranda of Death’s Door. Hermione couldn’t help giggling a little as she slid backwards as he stood up. It had taken a few tries, but they had found early that the easiest way for her to dismount was to slide backwards. It was hard not to grin as she slid down, the static adding to Harry’s already electric personality always gave her a happy feeling.

As she landed softly and he shifted back, her grin faded. Waiting for them, holding a newspaper and a note, was Death. The distinguished gentleman never showed much emotion, but what she could see told her it was bad news.

“What happened?” Harry asked, stepping up and taking the note.

“He’s found Pettigrew,” Death said simply.

“What?” Harry threw the paper on the table beside them, the note atop it. “How?”

Hermione came up behind him, reading over his shoulder. The note was simple: _ Found the traitor. _ The attached paper was a copy of the Daily Prophet, magical Britain's newspaper. It was a fairly normal example, not that she had been very impressed with it. Reading the headlines, it didn’t seem like anything special. There was the usual gossip: an article about the Weasleys winning some drawing, another about the latest government happenings.

“I’m not seeing what he’s talking about. I don’t see anything that could indicate Pettigrew was found,” Harry mumbled.

“Harry...:” Hermione said softly, hugging him, “What can I do? What can  _ we _ do?”

“Unfortunately, until we know where he has gone, there may not be much we  _ can  _ do.” Death said heavily.

“So we just leave him?” Harry demanded. “He’s sick, he needs our help.”

“Where is he?” Hermione asked, holding him tight, “How can we help him if we don’t know where he is?”

“He’s in Britain. The paper proves that.” Harry spoke as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

“Ok, but  _ where _ ?” Hermione pressed. “There are so many places he could go, even just in Britain. How can we narrow it down?”

“We start by opening the London house. I will be limited in what I can do, but Harry at least can stay there. From there we can get information quicker, and respond faster to anything we hear. Once you start back at school Hermione, we can look into something closer.”

“That… that’s a start.” Harry said, obviously struggling to keep his emotions in check.

“And we’ll do more, once we can.” Hermione told him, loosening her hold on him to move around to his side. “We can only do what we can.”

“I know,” Harry sighed, “There is one more thing I want to do before we leave though.”

It was an odd thing, Hermione realized, as he led her to his workshop. Laid out across the tables were boxes, some long, some short. Sitting her upon the floor, Harry began to place the boxes around her. Once he was done, he instructed her to meditate, pushing out with her magic without purpose. Intrigued, she did so, and she felt odd. She felt the magic around her, felt each box and its own feel. Some were very unreactive, others were almost singing to her, calling out for her.

“Good,” Harry told her, warmth growing in her at his praise. She felt him move around her, pulling the boxes that called to her aside and setting them on a separate bench. “All done then.”

“Harry,” she asked as she stood up, “what was that about?”

“It’s a surprise,” Harry smirked, “but you will like it, I promise.”

It took several days, but eventually they were able to get the London house set up and running. Hermione went home for a few days, but was back less than a week later. Apparently her parents were getting unbearable. She claimed it was them not understanding her being magic, but Harry wondered if it was something more than that. Every time she spoke of her parents, he heard something else in her voice, something he couldn’t place. She did keep trying though, going home at least every other weekend or so, though she always seemed relieved when she returned.

It was the middle of August, just after Hermione had done her school shopping, she burst into Harry’s study.

“Harry! Harry I did it!”

“Did what, Hermione?” Harry looked up.

“I found my form.” She said excitedly. “I finally found her.”

“That’s great Hermione,” Harry stood, pulling her into a hug and swinging her around. “What is it? How did you find her?”

“I realized the noise was her, she was playing games with me.” Hermione’s grin was almost ear to ear. “Once I laughed at being pranked, she came out.”

“What is she?” Harry asked as he set her back on the ground.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione admitted. “She’s like a fox, but not an ordinary one and definitely magical. She had three tails, each had a ball of something above it. One was fire, another was like a ball of electricity, and the last was like what you hit the troll with.”

“Eldritch power,” Harry said almost sagely, “Basically pure magic. As for what she is…”

Letting her go, he moved over to one of his shelves. Running his finger along the spines of the blocks, tracing each title as he passed it. Moving to a second row of the shelf, he continued, before finally pulling a tome off the shelf. Placing it on the desk, Hermione moved beside him and tried to read the titles, but there didn’t seem to be one.

“What book is that?” she asked as Harry flipped through the pages.

“It’s not a book, but a journal. Newt Scamander traveled and sought out a lot of creatures that never made it into his official books for one reason or another. This is from his asian expeditions, specifically Japan.”

“Why wouldn’t they make it into his books?” Hermione asked, affronted that someone would leave something out of a book.

“Various reasons,” Harry told her, absentmindedly reaching over to rub her shoulders reassuringly, “most commonly because he couldn’t actually find them. Others were left out because he couldn’t confirm enough information on them, or in a couple cases, he felt the information would present a danger to the creatures themselves. Remember, he was all about the creatures, trying to inform others so they wouldn’t fear what they didn’t understand.”

“Oh,” Hermione blushed a little, “I guess that makes sense. Did you find anything?”

“Here,” Harry turned the book towards her, presenting her with a picture very much like her form. There were a few differences though. First, this entry looked a bit bigger than her animagus form, standing about three and a half to four feet tall at the shoulder, whereas her form was just under three. Also, this one had five tails, not three like she did. Being herself, she began to read the notes, which explained some of the differences she noticed. 

According to Scamander, the Kitsune, or Japanese spirit fox, grew more tails as it aged, so being young, she should have two to three, Five to seven was a full grown adult, and nine was truly ancient. As for the size, that was again an age factor. It also explained the fire, electricity, and eldritch power above the tail tips. Being spirit animals, they had a connection with the elements around them, allowing them to control them. Each element was represented on a tail, so she had affinity to those three elements. She also noted they were tricksters, as well as master illusionists and could even turn themselves invisible, much like a Demiguise but better.

“So I'm a Kitsune?”

“That’s my guess,” Harry confirmed, “Scamander wasn’t able to find many, and those he did were young though, and often disappeared right in front of him. His best guess is they are very secretive. Since he couldn’t find much, he didn’t enter them into his books.”

“Makes sense. Want to meet her?”

“Only if you wish me to,” Harry hesitated, “you are still learning to protect your mind. If you invite me in, I may see things you don’t want me to.”

“I trust you, Harry,” Hermione sat on the ground, pulling him down next to her. “Even if you do see something else, you won’t use it to hurt me, so we’re fine.”

Sitting down next to her, Harry lightly extended his consciousness to her, joining her in entering her mindscape. He found himself surrounded by a tall lush forest similar to what he experienced while at Master Katzuma’s. Amazingly, it felt similar to what he felt when he visited Fushimi Inari, a presence of life permeating the world around them, warm and welcoming. He let the heat wash over him as he took Hermione’s hand and let her lead him over to a clump of underbrush. Slowly, a fox head peaked out, accepting Hermione’s caress before hesitantly licking Harry’s hand.

“Hey there little guy, aren’t you just amazing?” Harry greeted the Kitsune kit. “And what should we call you?”

“Bark.”

“Well, I can’t understand Kitsune,” Harry apologized as he rubbed behind her ears, “But I’m sure that sounded like an order.”

“Bark.”

“Still don’t understand.” Harry grinned and paused. Looking up, he saw a ball of lightning hovering over his head, causing his hair to stand out on end. “And I see you love Mischief too.”

“Bark  _ bark _ !”

“That’s it!” he exclaimed, grinning at Hermione as she chuckled at his hair beside him. “Miss Chief. We can call you Miss Chief. It fits the bossy and sneaky side of you.” He looked down at the warm brown eyes of the Kitsune. “What do you think?”

“Harry,” Hermione warned.

“ _ Bark _ bark bark” Miss Chief responded happily, nodding in response.

“Sorry, Hermione, I think you’re outvoted.” Harry laughed.

“We’ll see about that…” Hermione muttered sullenly, knowing she’d already lost. They watched the newly dubbed Miss Chief play for just a moment before pulling out of Hermione’s mindscape. As Hermione opened her eyes, her excitement shifted to concern for her best friend. Deciding not to put it off she asked him, “Now why do you have such dark bags under your eyes, Harry?”

“What?”

“I know you, Harry, you’re not sleeping are you? You are worrying too much.”

“Maybe,” he murmured distractedly into his lap, not meeting her eyes. 

Slowly, she rose and then pulled him back to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you to bed, we can keep working in the morning.”

“But..” 

“No. Bed, now.” He started to complain, but took one look and gave it up. Sighing, he let her lead him off his room. Not even his worry was up to arguing with Hermione when she was like this.

The Summer came to an end with news finally arriving on the last day of the summer break. The Prophet arrived with the headline:  MASS MURDERER SPOTTED: SIRIUS BLACK SEEN NEAR HOGSMEADE ! Harry had to be physically restrained from running off immediately as Hermione read the rest of the article. By the time Harry had calmed, Hermione was able to summarize.

“Seems like they saw him between Hogwarts and the village. The minister has ordered Dementors to begin patrolling the nation to search for him. A group will be stationed at Hogwarts to ‘Protect the students’ he says.”

“So he’s near the school,” Death said softly, “and Fudge is using Dementors, not a good combination.”

“No,” Harry agreed, “And the proximity to the old fool is going to make things really tricky.”

“We’ll figure it out Harry,” Hermione said, pulling him into a side hug, “we’ll figure it out.”


	13. September 29, 1993

**September 29, 1993 **

It was the first Hogsmeade weekend, just after breakfast, and Hermione had joined the queue to go visit Hogsmeade, when it happened. Shortly after Breakfast began, the line started to form. Being the first trip of the year, each student had to have their permission slips checked, and Filch wasn’t setting any speed records as he did it.

“Hermione,” Ron Weasley called, joining her in line and grabbing her hand, “thanks for saving our spot, the line is getting long.”

“ _ Our _ spot?” Hermione asked incredulously, taking her hand back. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m taking you to Hogsmeade,” Ron said matter of factly, as if they’d already agreed to it.

“ _ You’re  _ taking me to Hogsmeade?” Hermione gasped in shock. “When did this happen?”

“I decided yesterday.” His sense of entitlement dripping from his words, “Don’t worry though, you can repay me by doing my homework tomorrow.”

“So not only are you telling me what to do, not even asking if it’s something I want,” Hermione stated, anger lacing her voice, “but you expect me to do your homework  _ for _ you, not just help, in repayment for this dubious honor?”

“See, you can understand social situations,” Ron said in a manner that told her he thought it was a compliment. “Come on, we need to get to Honeydukes before the rush gets there.”

Then he reached out and grabbed her ass. He grabbed her in an intimate place, without hesitation or invitation. Her parents may have been drifting further away from her lately, but both had ensured she understood the basics of social morals, like when touching someone else was appropriate and where to touch. Apparently Ron had slept through that lesson.

***SMACK***

“Oi, what was that for?” Ron demanded, staggering back and holding his reddening cheek.

“What was that for?” Hermione went beyond mad to irate, possibly volcanic. Her voice however, became icy cold and low. All around then, faces turned, then bodies scattered as they saw the unmitigated fury on Hermione’s face. “What was that  _ for _ ? You self important, lecherous, Cretin!  _ Aceleus _ !”

Hermione’s stinging hex struck true, and Ron screamed bloody murder as he crumpled to the ground. The others around them, turning at the cry of pain and Ron’s continuing moans, looked shocked. Every guy in the crowd cringed as they saw the very sensitive area Ron was curled around and realized where he was injured.

“What is going on here?” demanded the snarling voice of Hogwarts’s most hated professor, and Hermione’s gut sank.

“Ron Weasley sexually assaulted me and I retaliated,” Hermione stated defiantly, “but since everyone knows you don’t care beyond the fact you get to gleefully take points from a house not your own, just get it over with. How many points are you going to take without any investigation or questioning?”

“That will be twenty points for your insolence,” Snape sneered, not caring he was proving her right, “Another forty for Weasley’s dramatics, and fifty for your assault of another student. Pick him up and take him to the Hospital wing.”

“I know there’s no changing your extreme and excessive point reductions, since the headmaster is in your back pocket, or are you in his? Regardless, I will not waste my Hogsmeade time tending to the boy who assaulted me.”  Hermione said with her arm crossed tightly over her chest, as if holding herself together.

“What Hogsmeade time?” Snape crowed evilly. “The last part of your punishment is your Hogsmeade privileges have been revoked, your behavior is not the image we want representing Hogwarts in the village.”

“And what of Draco Malfoy insulting everyone in sight and demanding preferential treatment because of who his daddy is?” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Rest assured I shall be appealing this.”

Her appeal went exactly as far as she expected it too. She left the entrance hall and went immediately up to Professor McGonagall's office. After informing her head of house exactly what happened the Deputy Head went to see Dumbledore. The look on her face when she returned told Hermione everything she needed to know.

“No, let me guess,” she told the elder witch as she returned with a forlorn look on her face. She shifted her voice to imitate Dumbledore. “Professor Snape has my full confidence and I shall not overrule him on this matter.”

“Almost word for word, lass,” McGonagall sighed. “You know, there was a time I actually respected the man. Sometimes I wonder what happened to him.”

“Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Hermione quoted. “He’s become so powerful and so revierred that no one questions him anymore. It’s been so long since someone showed him he was wrong, or even seriously questioned him, that he can no longer even contemplate being wrong about anything.”

“I suppose it’s possible.” Minerva sighed, then sat behind her chair. “On the other hand, I am able to do something about Mr. Weasley. He shall be having detention every Saturday for the rest of the year.”

“Good.” Hermione seethed.

“Have you heard from Harry recently?”

“Yeah, he’s getting restless. He’s searched the area for the last four weeks with no sign of Padfoot. In his last letter he mentioned that he was thinking about letting it be for a while and going to continue his education in Japan.”

“I bet Master Katsuma sent him a letter.”

“Sounds like it to me,” Hermione agreed. “I told him I thought it was a good idea. We have no idea what might be going through that mind of Padfoot’s, so putting his life on hold for it won’t do anyone any good. He’s thinking about it but I think he’ll give in and go, eventually. I suggested seeing if his Guardian could adjust or even flat out make a new portkey to go directly to somewhere nearby, it would allow him to shorten the journey back if something happens.”

“A wise idea,” McGonagall agreed, “As is getting Harry something other than this whole situation to consider.”

“That was my thought, plus he really enjoys his studies there. If he continues for the year, he will probably be able to finish his testing next summer.”

“Good for him,” Minerva smiled at her godson's accomplishments. “On the plus side, the near emptiness of the castle will be helpful to our sessions until enough time has passed for me to restore your village privileges. So why don’t we begin? What effect does….”

Hermione smiled as the pair settled into their normal advanced lesson scenario. McGonagall posed a question, and they would discuss and even example their answers as they strove to define the truth.

* * *

The next few weeks saw Hermione’s predictions come true. Harry did eventually travel to Japan to study with Master Katsuma, although he would show up and sneak into the castle every Hogsmeade weekend to join their lessons. These continued, as did her regular schoolwork and extra self-study, until Halloween.

Hermione was one of the first students to leave the hall after the Halloween feast, partially due to the sad undertone she associated with the day since her friendship with Harry. It was mildly upsetting to see everyone celebrating the day, and especially the defeat of the dark lord, without a single thought to those who didn’t make it.

As she climbed the steps, she made a mental note to write Harry, let him know she was thinking of him. She spoke the password to the Fat Lady, not really paying attention, and almost walked into the wall. She looked up and gasped. Before her, torn and shredded, was the empty portrait of the fat lady.

The portrait was still there, though the frame was wrecked, several parallel rips were torn through, and it was hanging loose in a couple of spots. Sensing the crowds of students beginning to arrive, she knew she had to do something. Looking around quickly, she spotted the Fat Lady hiding behind a knight in another portrait. Moving quickly, she came before the painting and spoke.

“My lady, I’m happy you’re ok, but what happened?”

“It was him, it was that murderer, Sirius Black!” she shrieked, causing gasps to run through the gathering students.

“Thank you my lady.” Hermione turned back to the crowd and spoke to them. “OK people, enough crowding. Obviously, we can’t get in. Everyone back to the Great hall. Lee, go get Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster please.”

As she waited, she surreptitiously tapped her necklace with her wand, letting Harry know that he needed to get here fast. She also spoke to the Fat Lady, calming her and getting more of the story from her. When she was done, the Headmaster and McGonagall arrived and she summarized.

“Basically, Sirius Black appeared and demanded entry. When she refused he started shouting and then took a knife to her portrait.” Hermione told them, “She fled to another portrait and he continued to slash her frame. Eventually he heard someone coming and fled.”

“Albus, I suggest you gather everyone in the Great Hall and start a search.” Minerva spoke with authority. “I shall take Miss Granger here and summon the Aurors to search outside.”

“Yes, good idea.” Albus agreed, turning to make his way down the staircase.

“You called him?” Minerva asked as soon as they were alone.

“Of course, he’d never forgive me if I didn't,” Hermione replied. “Given the time difference, he should arrive in a couple hours. Is there another way into the tower? My journal can give him information he may need to find Padfoot before anyone else.”

“Way in, no.” McGonagall said sadly, spoke with a hint of hope. “A way to get your journal, yes. Tippy.”

“Yes?” The eager house elf asked, appearing beside Minerva.

“Please retrieve the charmed journal from Miss Granger’s belongings and bring it to my office.”

“Tippy,” Hermione called before the elf could disappear, “before you touch it, say ‘there you are my pretty’. I warded it after one of my roommates tried to take it, and I don't know if it will affect you or not.”

“Thank you Miss, I don’t thinks it would hurt me, but I rather not find out.” Tippy nodded, then disappeared.

“Now let’s get going, you can warn Harry while I call the aurors.”


	14. November 5, 1993

**November 5, 1993**

“Miss Granger, please stay behind a moment.”

Hermione glanced up from packing her bags. She actually liked this professor, for Professor Lupin actually knew what he was doing. She’d been pleasantly surprised that they had actually found a competent DADA teacher this year. Given the previous instructors, she had been expecting to have to self teach  _ again _ . Instead, the classes made great reviews of the items she’d already studied last year and even added a few things not mentioned in the books.

“What can I help you with, Professor?”

“You can tell me why you’re really here Miss Granger,” the scruffy professor said calmly, without a hint of accusation.

“Sir?” Hermione fidgeted slightly, adjusting herself.

“I mean, Miss Granger, I expect that you could teach this class yourself.”

“Oh,” Hermione sighed inwardly, “I just read a lot, professor.”

“I know, though that doesn’t explain everything.”

“Sir?”

“I’ve only been here a couple months, but I've found you are something of a legend around Hogwarts.”

“A legend?” Hermione was nonplussed.

“Yes, several tales seem to follow you. Some more believable than others. Defeating a troll first year, your duel with Mr. Malfoy second year, the fact the Weasley twins are afraid of you when they aren’t even afraid of Dumbledore or McGonagall, or apparently their own mother. There was also something about Slytherin’s monster but there’s so many versions of that who knows what actually happened. You also seem to have scared a Dementor on the train to school this year.”

“You know school rumors, Sir,” Hermione deflected and picked up her bag.

“I do,” the Professor confirmed, then pulled his wand out. “Stupify.”

Hermione reacted without thinking. Spinning to avoid the crimson spell, she dropped her bag as she rolled through and came up with her wand pointed at the rugged looking professor. As her eyes caught up with the situation, she found the professor standing where he had been, hands up and wand pointing at the ceiling. The only emotion he seemed to show was surprise as he stared at the glowing point of her wand.

“Care to explain that?” Hermione growled.

“Sorry, Miss Granger.” He carefully placed his wand on the desk next to him. “Sorry for the deception but there isn’t another student below 6th year who could have dodged that. You have the knowledge, but you also have the training. Books are great, but they don’t teach those kinds of reactions.”

“No, they don’t.” 

“You want to know why that matters to me,” he continued, stepping around from behind his desk. “There are several reasons, the first of which is: I'm curious. I know, not a great reason but it’s true.”

Hermione snorted in humor, at least he was being honest.

“The second part is a bit difficult to explain,” He began, leaning back. “When I was in school, there was a group of students called the Marauders. They were pranksters, much like misters Weasley are today. No one was safe, even the professors were subject to their pranks. The Weasleys seem to be progressing along the same vein, however, they don’t prank  _ you _ . Everyone in Gryffindor has been pranked except you. I want to know why.”

“Maybe I have a deal with them.” 

“Maybe, but what could you do that they would fear?”

“Maybe I threatened to tell their mother.”

“Not likely.” Lupin chuckled. “Though they do fear their mother, given the number of howlers they receive, it’s unlikely that that is the answer.”

“There is that,” Hermione acknowledged. “If you must know, I proved the ability to get retribution upon them in a way that would spell their doom.”

“Care to explain?”

“They confronted me about avoiding the pranks they’d tried,” Hermione sat on the desk facing him, “I pointed out their big weakness, they’re too predictable.”

“You mean the fact they use far too many charms and potions?” Lupin asked.

“That, and the fact that they still need to work on subtlety,” Hermione confirmed, “Far too often their timing is off.”

“So you did what?”

“I switched their underthings.” Hermione grinned at the memory., “I know from the complaints from the boys in my year, their mother stitches their names into their unmentionables. Then I pointed out I could switch them with McGonagall, or if they really piss me off, Snape.”

“I can actually see that working,” Lupin chuckled heartily, “So moving back to my original query, there is one more point that tells me you are more than you appear.”

“And that is, Professor?”

“At this point, just call me Remus, or Moony, outside of class.”

“Moony?” 

“Yes, my nickname,” Remus confirmed. “Anyway, the third reason I know something else is going on is because I have some knowledge of who you are involved with, and who is involved with your extra training.”

“How?” Hermione’s tone was demanding, with a hint of threat behind it.

“First, let me tell you about those Marauders,” Remus began.

“No need, I know about them, including the fact you were one of them. They were four friends: James Potter, also known as Prongs. Sirius Black, known as Padfoot. Yourself, Remus Lupin, known as Moony. And Peter Pettigrew, known as Wormtail. They were best of friends, pranksters, and in the end, one of them betrayed the others to Lord Voldemort,” Hermione said quietly.

“Sirius,” Remus snarled, only to recoil in shock.

“NO!” Hermione snapped, jumping to her feet. “Sirius did not betray James. Pettigrew did. That ** _ rat_ ** sold them out to Voldemort and then framed Sirius for it. And before you say he was convicted, check the records, Sirius Black has no record of having ever stood trial.”

“But he… are you sure?” Remus asked, taken aback with the vehemence of her defense. “I mean everyone said…”

“Everyone knows Harry Potter survived the Killing Curse as well, but how do they know that when no one else was there?”

“I… suppose you have a point there,” Moony agreed reluctantly. “Anyway, since you know so much about the Marauders, do you know what they became and why?”

“They were animagi, well three were. The fourth couldn’t because he was a werewolf. They became animagi to spend the full moons with him, a three year commitment to help their friend.”

“You seem awfully well informed,” Remus said suspiciously, “and given what I've smelt on you, especially after your additional tuition, I would appreciate some explanations.”

“No.”

Remus sat back at the finality of her statement. He looked at her, really looked at her, and realized she was completely serious. Her jaw was set, her eyes were hard, and she had yet to release her wand. He knew she had contact with someone he knew, someone from his past but couldn’t place, and it was bugging him, yet she was very powerful, very knowledgeable, and even though he had years of experience, he wasn’t sure he would win if it came to spells.

“May I ask why not?”

“There are several reasons,” Hermione said evenly. “First, I don’t trust you. I know enough to know that you made some bad decisions, decisions that affected someone I care about. Second, you haven’t said why you want to know, or why I should. And finally, it’s not my story, so it’s not mine to tell. Professor McGonagall knows some, and if you have a concern you should take it to her.”

“Very well, I shall accept that for now.” Lupin seemed upset, but not angry. “Now just out of curiosity, is there any truth to the rumor you scared a dementor on the train?”

“Scared? No.” Hermione answered honestly. After all, it hadn’t had time to be scared before her Patronus took care of it.

“It sounds like there’s more to it than that.”

“Not really,” Hermione deflected, “One came by, then left me alone.”

“And you didn’t say or do anything?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So what happened?”

“I protected myself.”

“There’s no protection from a dementor other than…” Remus trailed off, looking at her in awe, “No...”

“No what?”

“Show it to me please?” he asked. “Show me your patronus.”

Hermione hesitated, then nodded. Gathering herself, she thought about her happiest thought, her friendship with Harry, and cast her patronus. From the end of her wand, a shimmering silver shield formed, swirling as it tried to change to something else, something more solid with four legs, then wavered as she let it fall. Lupin nodded, watching the patronus from a mere third year.

“Congrats, I do believe you are the youngest to ever successfully cast a patronus.”

“If you say so,” Hermione stated differently, “it’s still not corporeal.”

“Miss Granger, maybe half of the Auror force can produce one, to do so at thirteen is amazing.”

“May I go now?”

“I… yes, you may.” Remus nodded, watching the young witch pick up her bag. She vexed him. She was about the most powerful witch he’d ever encountered, plus rivaled some for the most knowledgeable. That she had these secrets, as well as the power he felt from her, scared him a little. Add to that her obvious knowledge of his past, she could be a very dangerous individual to upset.


	15. February 18th, 1994

**February 18th, 1994**

“Twice, that’s twice that he’s made it into the castle,” Harry ranted as he paced back and forth in the astronomy tower.

Harry had been searching for any sign of his godfather for the last two weeks, ever since he’d somehow made it into Gryffindor tower. Getting that notice first thing in the morning had made for a very long day as he had raced back to Scotland to try and find Sirius. Two weeks of dodging dementor and Auror patrols had not improved his mood.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione said softly, huddling against the chill.

“No, I shouldn’t be taking it out on you,” Harry apologized, stopping his pacing to pull her into a hug.

“Be that as it may,” Minerva spoke to the huddled pair, “he has once again eluded everyone, including us.”

“Yeah, but he’s still free,” Harry pointed out. “That counts for something.”

“Yeah, but is it enough?”

“Well, he’s not dead, and he’s not back in Azkaban, that’s got to be a good thing.”

“Yeah, well, too bad we missed him. Even using the time turner didn’t get you here fast enough.” Hermione sighed. “It’s frustrating, you know? We have all this knowledge and still aren’t able to help him.”

“Yeah, If only we knew what he wanted.” Harry agreed, still holding her lightly. “Why would he break into Gryffindor? Why go to the third year boys’ dorm? I mean if he was looking for someone, the names are on the foots of their beds, it’d be easy to find them.”

“Maybe it’s not _someone_ he’s looking for?” Minerva ventured. “Obviously it’s something he believes is in Gryffindor Tower, but what if the third year dorms were just where he got caught?”

“Possible, I suppose,” Harry admitted, “but in any case, I need to leave soon. I've already missed a test that I will need to make up. At this rate I may have to spend part of the summer in Japan to complete my testing.”

“Japan?” Hermione's sad voice caused Harry to look down at her. “You’ll be in Japan this summer?”

“Possibly.” Harry nodded, then realized what she was really asking. “How would you like to join me? I will have some free time, and I'm sure Master Katsuma would love to instruct you on Japanese Magical Traditions.”

“Really?” The hope in her eyes made Harry smile, “You really think that’d be ok?”

“I’ll have to ask when I return to be sure, but I doubt he’ll say no. At the very least he will offer to let you self-study in his library.”

“Really?”

“You know you have to take her now, right?” McGonagall’s smile was rueful, “Mentioning an unexplored library to her is like offering air to a drowning man.”

“I know,” Harry grinned as Hermione tried to squeeze the life out of him, “I’d already mentioned the possibility to Master Katsuma. So, what else has been happening lately?”

“School is boring as usual, even with the extra classes.” Hermione pouted.

“You mean every class, don’t you?” Harry teased, “I mean, who else but you would use a time turner to take every class Hogwarts offers?”

“Hey, I'm not taking all of them!”

“Ok, neither of us consider divination a real class, especially since the teacher seemed to predict a different student's death every class.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still bored. Even Runes and Arithmancy aren’t very engaging. Runes is less helpful than I thought, and Arithmancy is interesting, but the pace is so slow,” Hermione pouted.

“How so, Miss Granger?” Minerva asked, slightly put out. “What is wrong with those classes?”

“Well, Runes is better described as _Ancient_ Runes. I thought that it was more runes that are in wards and older uses, not runes that haven’t been used in millennia. I’ve done the research, there is very little that can be gained from their study, modern ward structures are very different.”

“True,” Harry agreed, “But think of this, are there things that ancient wards can do that modern can’t?”

“What do you mean?”

“Minerva,” Harry turned to the elder witch, “I know I can't get there with _him _in the castle, but do you think you could show Hermione the Hogwarts wardstone?”

“It’s very hard to do what you suggest, however, I believe that the Headmaster is scheduled to be gone in two weeks to attend the ICW meeting in Geneva. We can go then if that’s acceptable.”

“Seriously?” Hermione was almost jumping in excitement. “I can really see it?”

“Yes, my dear,”

“Hermione,” Harry pushed her feet back firmly on the ground, “when you go, try to identify the runes used. I will tell you that other than a couple structures, most are either ancient, or based on ancient rune structures.”

“And how do you know this Mr. Potter? Only myself and the Headmaster have permissions to enter the ward room.”

“Unfortunately, the key to that sentence is permission.” Harry grinned. “I’m also not the first to break in. There was a group years ago who added their own to the structure. I did the same. For this.”

Minerva looked at the folded parchment before her. It appeared to be just a blank bit of parchment, nothing especially different about it. Hermione, however, looked at it in awe. “You finished it.”

At Minerva’s curious look, Harry pulled out his wand, tapping the pages as he spoke.

“I solemnly swear I am True.”

Before Minerva’s eyes, ink began to spread from the tip of Harry's wand. She saw it swirl and flow, moving across the folds and making… something. Peering closer, she read the front, where a shield formed and writing greeted her: Mister Blitz and Miss Chief, with help from the man beyond, welcome you to the Marauders Map, Version 2.

“Oh no, not that bloody thing again.” McGonagall snarled, causing Harry to chuckle.

“I see you’re familiar with its predecessor.” Harry grinned. “This is not the same though, we’ve made some improvements.”

“And the original wasn’t bad enough?”

“First, note the passphrase,” Harry tried to placate her, “it’s mixed with a verification spell, ensuring that even if you know the passphrase it doesn’t mean the map will work.”

“Meaning what?”

“There’s layers to it, but basically if you are intending harm or have maliciousness in your heart, it won’t work. There are some who are permanently barred from it. Snape, Dumbledore, Pettigrew, and anyone with the dark mark are all unable to use it.”

“I see.”

“Also, the original was just a map.” Hermione said, her eyes shining with excitement. “There was a lot of time wasted searching and hunting. _This _map has a search feature. Miss Chief requests the location of Professor McGonagall.”

Minerva watched in awe as the ink seemed to move across the page, zooming closer as it moved and finally stabilized. To her amazement, it showed an outline of the Astronomy tower, including the storage lockers students weren’t supposed to be aware of. There in the middle, right where they were standing, were a trio of footprints, each with a label. Professor Minerva McGonagall, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger. She did note one odd thing. Both She and Harry had a small pawprint next to their names.

“Harry, what does that mean?” She pointed to the paws. 

“That means they have an Animagus form.” Harry said with a smug grin, “So if we’re looking for someone, and they have that mark, we know to look for animals as well.”

“Ingenious.”

“That’s not all,” Hermione continued. “There is another function that will be especially helpful.” She placed her own wand over a small symbol at the top, something looking like a cube. “Expand.”

The gasp that came from Minerva was all the kids could have hoped for. The look on her face as the ink became luminous and began to rise off the page was even better. Awe showed on the older witch’s face as a luminous model of Hogwarts rose before her. She saw individual lights moving within the translucent walls, each with a miniature flag above their heads with their name.

“There are a couple of other features we’re still working on, but those will probably take a year or two.” Harry said to the flabbergasted McGonagall. “Those are more for you or someone who is in charge. More as a monitor than a tool for mischief.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, while it is a great tool for troublemakers, it is even more useful in the hands of someone who cares.” Hermione patted her favorite teacher's shoulder. “The ability to instantly find and help a student in trouble, to record what spells are used where and by who, and to find missing students would be invaluable.”

“However,” Harry’s voice was sad, “Until that is ready, this is for Hermione. In the future, you will have an even more versatile version, and you can borrow this anytime you wish, but for now, it’s hers.”

“I… I understand,” McGonagall said quietly. “I’m not happy, but I understand. At least it’s someone I trust with this ability. Anything else to give me apoplexy?”

“Buckbeak is going on trial,” Hermione said softly.

“What?” Minerva asked. “The Hippogriff Malfoy insulted and then pretended he was mortally wounded for a month?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Hermione confirmed. “Apparently he cried to daddy and he’s pushed it into a trial.”

“So basically he is going to kill an innocent creature for his son's stupidity?” Minerva was shocked.

“Yeah, Hagrid got the notice today. The date is in June.”

“Well, I'll see what I can dig up,” Harry said, before cocking his head. “Dumbledore is headed this way. Safety Secured.”

As the new Marauders map disappeared, Harry turned and with a smile to both witches, he leapt off the tower and flew away.


	16. June 9th, 1994

**June 9th, 1994**

Hermione struggled to wake up in the Hospital wing, noting it just before eleven. Something had changed, and her senses screamed something was wrong. She’d barely begun to assess things before the headmaster strode into the room, lilac robes billowing around him as he approached. 

“I see you’re back among us Miss Granger.” He smiled in a grandfatherly fashion. “You and Mr. Weasley there,” he indicated a bed across the way in which Ron was asleep with a large cast over his leg, “will be right as rain in a day or two under Madam Pomfrey’s excellent care. You’ll be pleased to know that the dastardly murderer Sirius Black will soon bother you no more. He shall receive the Dementors kiss here in just a few minutes, at eleven o’clock exactly.”

“Dementor's kiss? But that’ll kill him,” Hermione protested.

“Well yes, that is the point.” Dumbledore nodded sagely. “He did escape Azkaban, attack students, and there was the whole mess he was incarcerated for in the first place.”

“He’s innocent,” Hermione argued. “He never had a trial; Peter Pettigrew is alive, and escaping false imprisonment is not a crime.”

“Ah, so sad to be confounded at such a young age,” a sad faced Dumbledore responded. “Give it a few days, I'm sure you’ll come to your senses. Now, I'm sure you need your rest, so I'll leave you now. Due to the sensitive nature of what is about to occur, I’m afraid I'll be locking you two in.”

“What an ass,” Harry’s voice said softly as he faded into view once the doors were shut.

“Yeah,” Hermione sighed, “then again, so are you at times.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Here, yes. Saving your godfather? No,” she pointed out, getting to her feet. “You only have a few minutes.”

“No, we have hours.” Harry said, pulling her to the center of the room.

“Hours?”

“Yes, hours.” Harry grinned, pulling on the golden chain around her neck. Hermione held it for a second, then gasped as she realized what he meant. 

“The time turner,” she exclaimed as she pulled the small hourglass necklace from her shirt. The small device, an hourglass inside a solid gold circle covered in tiny runes, shimmered in the lamplight. Looping the magically expanding chain over Harry’s neck, she concentrated and flipped the little disc once, twice, thrice, four times. Around them, the room blurred and lightened, and snapped into focus. Returning the device to under her shirt, she glanced at the clock. “Just enough time, come on.”

They raced through the halls, though anyone watching them only saw her, as Harry had faded from anyone else’s sight before they had made it through the Hospital wing doors. It wasn’t until the bridge leading to Hagrid’s that she slowed down, stopping just before the bridge’s end. The reason was apparent as they peaked around and saw Malfoy and his cronies gawking and looking down towards Hagrid's hut and the Hippogriff tied up behind it.

“Told you that filthy beast wouldn’t like what I did to him,” Malfoy was bragging, “see how he likes it with a few feathers trimmed at the neck.”

The laughter was evil, and Harry was about to correct it when he paused and looked at Hermione. The anger was there, but so was the determination he’d seen before. Stepping back, he waved a hand in invitation and sat back to watch.

“What_ you _ did to him?” Hermione asked, her voice laced with contempt. “All you did was cry and tell your father, then pretend to be injured to get out of things for weeks even though you were healed in minutes.”

“You lying little mudblood,” Draco spun, bringing him wand up, then staggered as his nose met Hermione’s fist. Now, even a normal fist to one's nose hurts rather spectacularly, the fist of a person who was training physically for the last few years hurts considerably more. Draco staggered, stars blinding him as pain was all he could comprehend. Turning to Draco’s minions, Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

“Who’s next?” she asked sweetly, looking from one to the other. Showing more intelligence than she expected, they stepped back, picked up the stunned Draco, and departed rapidly. None of them noticed the hex that hit them in the back as they departed.

“And that was?” Hermione asked as Harry faded back into view.

“Just a minor laxative hex,” Harry said innocently, “keyed to activate next time they come within ten feet of you.”

“That’s… actually kind of cool, you can key hexes like that?”

“I’ll teach you this summer,” Harry waved her off. “Now, I believe we were going somewhere?”

“Buckbeak,” Hermione cried, turning to hurry down the hill, “come on!”

“Care to explain?” Harry asked as they moved off the path into the woods.

“Buckbeak is the Hippogriff that Malfoy offended earlier in the year, scheduled to be executed here in a little bit thanks to his father. We’re going to rescue him.”

“I see, and how do we do that?” Harry asked looking over his shoulder. “The Headmaster is coming.”

“He escorted the executioner down,” Hermione explained. Looking into the cabin, she could see Ron and herself still there. “Why aren’t we leaving?”

“What happened when you were there?”

“Ron got his rat back, it’s Pettigrew by the way, and then he got…” she trailed off and glanced down at the woodpile they were currently hiding behind and saw a familiar looking rock. Picking it up she continued, “He got brained with a rock… this time it’s _ my _ turn.”

Smirking at the satisfying thwack as she nailed Ron in the back of the head. They continued to watch as the pair exited out Hagrid’s back door, just before the Headmaster, the Minister, and the Executioner entered the front. Once the pair had departed, they approached the hippogriff. Hermione bowed as she had been taught in class, but Harry just looked at the beast, who stared back at him. Hermione motioned Harry to bow, but instead she saw him… shift. She wasn’t quite sure what changed, he looked the same, but suddenly she could feel Blitz’s presence as well. Then, to her shock, Buckbeak bowed deeply to Harry, who returned it with a slight nod. The majestic beast then walked passively along as they led him to the woods.

“What was that?”

“Thunderbirds are the apex, they bow to no one,” Harry muttered as they watched the group exit Hagrid's hut. The Minister tried to make a stink, but Dumbledore pointed out that he’d been there when they had entered, and Hagrid had been with them the whole time. Upset but not able to do anything about it, the Minister was led away, back to the castle. 

The pair moved around to watch as first Sirius and Ron, then Hermione, followed by Lupin and Snape entered the passage under the Whomping Willow. Once all witnesses were gone, they released the noble Hippogriff to the wild. Blitz’s presence warning him not to return to Hogwarts, for it was dangerous now. They watched him take off, flying majestically into the distance. Once he was out of sight they settled down to wait, cuddled together against the cold.

Almost an hour later, they watched the procession exit the tunnel. Lupin changed, the balding feral looking man disappeared, and Sirius was thrown. Hermione stood defiantly before the unconscious Snape and Weasley, defending them. 

Suddenly, Harry gasped as Hermione shifted. One moment he saw Hermione and werewolf Lupin facing off, the next he was watching Miss Chief hurling fire, lightning, and eldritch power at a dazed werewolf. Harry turned to her in surprise.

“Surprise.” Hermione grinned at his shocked expression.

“You did it!” Harry’s shock turned to joy as he hugged his best friend. “I knew you could do it.”

“Yeah, and between scorching his ass and…” she paused as a howl sounded, causing Lupin to turn his attention to it, “that, he should be gone now.”

They watched Lupin lope off into the woods. As he disappeared into the trees, Hermione searched for Sirius, finding him by the lake. 

Seeing where they were as they felt the dementors approach, Hermione realized who had saved them her first time around. She remembered a pair of bright patroni flying across the lake before she’d passed out. Now she knew who had cast them.

“Harry, it was us, I saw us save me before.”

“How?”

“Patroni, we cast very powerful patroni,” she shivered, “but I don't know how we did, I can barely concentrate now as they approach. I already feel the happiness leaving…I don't know if I can…”

Looking into her eyes, usually so fierce and fearless, and seeing despair shook Harry. He knew she could, he had every faith in her, but she had her own doubts. Gathering his courage, drawing on everything he had, he turned to her and asked, “A patronus is based on a happy memory right?” She nodded. “Then use this one.” And he kissed her, hard, putting every ounce of every feeling he had for her, everything he’d been denying. He poured himself and his magic into that kiss, and power and electricity sparked around them as she returned it.

“Ready?” he asked as he broke contact. At her stunned nod, they turned, the power from their kiss still radiating off of them. Together, they shouted, “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

A wave of power pulsed from the pair; then another. From each of their wands, blinding silver light poured out, and larger than life visages of their animagus forms burst forth. Harry’s Thunderbird charged the demons, swooping and wheeling to chase them away. Hermione’s Kitsune stood guard over the fallen, occasionally flicking a bolt of power from her tails at any Dementor who got too close. As the last Dementor fled, the pair of patroni presented themselves to their castors, nuzzling them and filling them with happiness before fading away.

“Now what?” Hermione asked as she watched Snape approach the fallen forms of Sirius and the other Hermione. “How do we get back to the Hospital wing where I’m expected _ and _ save Sirius?” Hermione looked distractedly over Harry’s shoulder. “What is he… _ that bastard _.”

Harry turned to look at the object of Hermione’s ire. Across the way, they saw Snape grinning wildly as Sirius writhed in pain, twitching, and convulsing. He saw the sickly blood-red light of the spell attached to his godfather, and instantly knew what it was. He also knew they could do nothing to stop it.

“_ No _,” he grabbed Hermione before she could act, “I wish we could but this isn’t something we can change.”

“He’s _torturing_ an _innocent_ _man_.” 

“Yes, and that is but one of hundreds of crimes he will pay for,” Harry sagged in resignation, “but not today. We know he’ll return you both to the castle, and it’s there that we will free him.”

“How?”

Harry pondered and watched as Snape finally released the spell, conjured a pair of stretchers to match the one Ron was on, and took them up to the castle. 

“Well, in about ten minutes, we’ll ask Tippy which room he’s in,” Harry explained, pulling her back towards Hagrid's hut. “I suspect it will be a high tower room with minimal access, and given the design of the castle, _ a window _.” a hint of a smile appeared. “Care for a moonlight ride my dear?”

Hermione smiled back.

The actual rescue of Sirius was incredibly easy in the end. Harry transformed into Blitz, took them both up to the window of Professor Flitwick's office, where Sirius was being held, and hovered. Hermione brilliantly vanished the window and shocked Harry’s Godfather by calling ‘Thunderbird for Black’. Recognizing her from the Shack, Sirius joined her, and Hermione conjured the window back. However, she did take artistic license and replace the Ravenclaw eagle with a Thunderbird. They landed in an abandoned courtyard and debarked.

“Thank you young lady,” Sirius said, pulling Hermione into a bracing hug. “I don’t know why you did what you did, but I'm grateful.”

“Hey old man,” Harry’s voice called from behind him, “that’s my girlfriend you’re trying to crush.”

“Harry!” The rib-cracking hug shocked Harry, while Hermione smiled fondly.

“What happened? Why are you here Sirius?” Harry asked once he could breathe.

“Pettigrew,” Hermione said with vitriol in her voice. “He was hiding as Ron Weasley’s pet rat.”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Sirius pleaded, “when I saw him, I just couldn't stop myself.”

“And you couldn’t have written more? Told us why you disappeared?” Hermione snapped at him. “You left your Godson with a vague note and no idea what was happening with you.”

“I… I did,” Sirius admitted weakly. “I just lost it when I saw him.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell us he was a rat animagus?” Harry asked as tears began to cloud his eyes. “I _ know _you hate talking about him, but that would have been good information to have.”

“I thought I did. Why did you think I always called him the rat?”

“Because he was the spy and betrayed you. In any case, I need to get back, I'm sure Snape is going to try to blame me for your escape,” Hermione said softly.

“How will you get back? Dumbledore locked the door,” Harry asked in concern.

“You’re forgetting what I accomplished tonight. I’ll already be there when he closes the door.” Hermione smiled happily as she shifted into Miss Chief. Then she faded from sight.

“I like her.” Sirius grinned, then dodged Harry’s punch to the shoulder.

“Come on old man, let’s get out of here.”


	17. July 2nd, 1994

**July 2nd, 1994**

“Harry?”

Harry looked up from the text before him, a small smile on his face. It had been building for almost the whole week they’d been in Japan, this conversation. He knew it was coming, though never understood why it was needed. He had shown her what he felt after all.

“Yes Hermione?” He marked his page and eased the tome closed.

“What… what are we?” The fear creeping into her voice caused him to freeze.

“What do you mean?” Harry said cautiously.

“What did you… Harry, why did you kiss me?”

“Is that what you’re confused about?” Harry smiled, pulling her closer. “Hermione, I thought that kiss was enough to tell you that.”

“I… It was nice, but it was also confusing,” Hermione trailed off as she looked down at her shoes, as if embarrassed to admit such a thing out loud.

“I suppose I can see that,” he conceded, realizing that it could have seemed out of context given the situation, “but let me ask you this: what do you want it to mean?”

“I want it… I want it to mean you like me, as more than a friend,” she admitted, her cheeks turning crimson. “I was so scared, so far into despair that when you kissed me, it filled me with joy.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Harry’s cheeks heated as well.

“No, not liked,” Hermione corrected. “It felt like I found a part of me I never knew was missing. I realized just how much you’ve come to mean to me, and maybe… How much I mean to you?”

“Definitely,” Harry pulled her close, “but never let yourself doubt that I did it because I wanted to. You may wonder if I did it to give you what you needed to cast your patronus. I did, kind of, but that was an effect, not the reason. That kiss was as much for me as it was for you. I couldn’t face that swarm without you by my side, without letting you know how I felt.”

His hand came up to cup her face and she leaned into the caress, savoring the contact. She felt herself glowing, fire racing through her veins as he spoke. She felt the warmth of him in that touch, and butterflies fluttered excitedly in her belly.

“I have come to care deeply for you, Hermione, more than anyone I know.” his thumb caressed her cheek. “Though I would never force any relationship on you, I do wish to try being more than just friends.”

“What do  _ you  _ want Harry?” He could feel her blush as she rested her forehead against his.

“You, in whatever way you will have me. Friends if that’s all you desire, more if you’re willing.”

“Then I am yours, Harry Potter.” Her voice cracked as she faced him once more. “As you are mine.”

Their kiss at the lake shore had been something special, neither denied that. This kiss, as Hermione’s lips found Harry’s, was even better. Heat spread from their lips as their arms pulled the other close. Each reveled in the other’s presence, feeling the love being given in that kiss, that single, perfect kiss.

“Wow,” Hermione said in awe as they parted, still holding each other close.

“Yeah,” Harry grinned back, “that was something special.”

“Like you,” Hermione grinned, “like us.”

“Yeah, now I really wish I wasn’t so busy here this summer.”

“It’s ok, Harry, I understand.” Hermione moved to hug his side. “This is part of who you are. Besides, I get to learn about a whole new culture.”

“I see now,” Harry teased her while hugging her to his side, “you’re just using me to get more books.”

“Well, maybe a little,” Hermione teased back, “But there are other benefits too.”

“Like what?”

“Like spending time with my best friend, who just happens to be my boyfriend too.”

“Not enough.” Harry pouted.

“Yes enough. Yes you have work to do here, and it’s important work, but we will have more times like this. Times for building this between us. Time to grow closer, to become us.”

“You’re really ok with all the work I need to finish?”

“Yes, Harry.” She kissed his cheek. “Master Katsuma is helping me research Kitsune. You finish your tests. I have this to occupy myself with. When you’re done, we can work on us more.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Now that I know you feel as I do, I'm very sure.” Hermione slid from his embrace. “I do have one more question though. You said Professor McGonagall could sense you because of your animagus form, why couldn’t she sense Pettigrew?”

“Well, that has two parts to it really.” Harry shifted slightly to face her fully. “The first part is that she knows me, and my form, really well. She helped guide me to it and was there when I first transformed.”

“So she knows your magic, your feel?” Hermione paused, then nodded. “And because she is familiar with it, she’s more able to sense it when it’s near.”

“Exactly. The second is something Pettigrew did. He went feral.”

“Feral?”

“When you shift to Miss Chief, you are in control, you make the decisions, right?” She nodded. “Well, you also hear  _ her  _ instincts, she’s talking to you and guiding you, right?” Another nod. “Well that is the natural Kitsune, her thoughts and instincts. What Pettigrew did was called ‘going feral’, which means the rat took over. It wasn’t the rat simply guiding him, but the rat driving with him hitching a ride.”

“So, since it was the rat in charge,” Hermione’s eyes sparked with understanding, “he was less wizard and more rat, so he didn’t feel like an animagus.”

“Precisely. And since she didn’t immediately sense it when he was Percy’s rat, and he never changed back, she grew used to his feel.”

“I think I understand now.” She kissed him softly. “I’ll leave you to your work for now. Remember, dinner is in an hour.”

* * *

The next couple weeks flew by. Harry with his healer testing and Hermione with her research (both on Kitsune and on Japanese magical culture.) It wasn’t until Harry’s birthday at the end of the month that they had much time together. Harry’s testing had wrapped up the day before, and Hermione was doing more in depth research having exhausted her general studies. They had already discussed it, and the group was going to hike up Mount Fuji, starting ungodly early so they could reach the summit before sunrise. Included in their group, portkeying in the day before, were Professor McGonagall, Sirius, and joining the group for the first time, Remus Lupin.

It had been rough at the end of the year, for the day after they rescued Sirius, it had been ‘leaked’ that Remus was a werewolf. The outrage had flooded in and he had been dismissed, despite him being the best Defense professor anyone could recall. Hermione had sent him to London House, and sent a note to Harry that he was there. Harry and Sirius had met Lupin there, and agreed to let him begin repairing the bridges that had fallen since that October night. Inviting him along on the birthday hike was one of those attempts.

Harry had laughed when he told her how Lupin had reacted to him showing up. The scent Remus had caught after her sessions with him was Harry, shocking the werewolf. He’d known it was familiar, something from the time of his schooling, but never identified it. It had taken some time, and a lot of tears between the former, now renewed, best friends but in the end they began to rebuild their relationship.

Hermione had interacted more with Sirius since the rescue, not a lot, but more. She could see the relationship between him and Harry, it wasn’t paternal, but more like an uncle or big brother. It concerned her a little that Death seemed to be Harry’s only true parental figure. Sirius tried, but he was more concerned with teaching Harry how to prank than anything else. Death wasn’t bad per se, Harry was a wonderful young man she truly cared for, but she was concerned he didn’t have a good example of a loving family. The aspect of Death and a slightly deranged jokester weren’t high on her list of great examples.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Hermione looked up from her musings, having drifted as they hiked the dormant volcano.

“It’s nothing.” She sighed as her new boyfriend smiled at her.

“You’re realizing that Sir and Sirius make for less than stellar parental figures, aren’t you?”

“I… is it that obvious?”

“No,” He helped her over a large boulder, “but I am getting better at reading you. Plus you keep glancing at Padfoot.”

“He’s hard to ignore.” She pointed to where Sirius, as Padfoot, was circling Professor McGonagall with his tail wagging.

“Yeah, not the best example of adulthood,” Harry squeezed her hand, “but Sir realized I'd need more than he or, once we freed Sirius, they could provide. Each year, I normally spend at least half the time with various tutors and instructors, like Master Katsuma. I am sponsored with either their family or that of one of their friends or students. This gives me a more normal outlook than you might expect.”

“But isn’t it hard changing living conditions so often?” Hermione’s tone was filled with concern. “I mean, that equals changing at least twice a year.”

“There is always an adjustment period, but not as bad as you may think.”

“You said usually?”

“Yeah, I don't think I’ll be doing much this year, other than my practical stuff here.”

“Why not?” Hermione looked at him with eyes full of concern. Her voice became laced with fear at the distant look in his eyes. “What has happened?”

“Well, I met this wonderful witch, a true beauty,” Harry tried to smile as he pulled her close, causing her to blush, “and I intend to figure out a way to spend as much time with her as I can.”

“You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for me Harry.”

“You misunderstand.” Harry smiled. “It’s because I want to. Not some misguided sense of obligation. Besides, with you freeing up time by dropping Divination and Muggle studies, I figure I can find a way to work with you more on your wandless and combat abilities.”

“Combat?” Hermione stopped, looking at her boyfriend and the distant look now gracing his face. “What’s going on?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Harry looked around, then continued after verifying no one else was near, “but something is changing. Wormtail is active and seeking his master again. There’s a shift, not even Sir can truly see what has caused it, but the world is growing darker.”

“You think he’s coming back, don’t you?”

“No, I know he will. We just don’t know when.” Harry pulled her close as her eyes began to shine. “I do think it’s going to be soon, and I don’t want you unprepared when it happens.”

“Ok Harry,” Hermione mumbled into his chest. “Combat abilities it is.”

“Oi! you two!” they turned to see a grinning Sirius. “Less snogging and more hiking, we want to make it to the summit for sunrise, not sunset.”

“You know, despite seeing her last month, he hasn’t really met Miss Chief yet,” Harry pointed out as they began to climb again. He broke into chuckles as he saw the contemplative look on Hermione’s face.


	18. September 19, 1994

**A/N: I have checked almost daily, and unfortunately I must report I am still NOT JK Rowling. This means the characters are hers, I just play with them. **

**September 19, 1994**

Hermione sighed, poking her food listlessly at breakfast. Another year older, and while she knew her parents would have sent her a birthday present, they didn’t have a way to send it. They had discussed getting a family owl, but neither of her parents were willing to care for one, especially for such infrequent needs. She looked up and saw the parliament of owls entering the Great Hall with morning mail, and sighed again.

“Oh my.” She looked up at Lavender’s exclamation, then followed her look to the incoming owls. 

“Oh!” Hermione squeaked in surprise as a brilliant white owl made its way through the throng with authority. She could actually see other owls peeling off, getting out of Hedwig’s way, as the snowy owl swooped down to land in front of her. Preening, the beautiful lady calmly presented the letter and small package attached to her leg.

“Hello, Hedwig,” Hermione greeted her, passing over a rasher of bacon before untying the package.

“Berk!” Hedwig answered, snapping up the bacon.

“Thank you for delivering this to me,” Hermione continued, stroking the silky feathers at the back of Hedwig's neck before the majestic bird hopped up and flew away.

“B-bloody hell, Granger,” Ron Weasley stammered, “Where’d  _ you _ get an owl like that?”

“Hedwig isn’t  _ my  _ owl, Weasley,” Hermione’s tone was cool, “she is a friend’s and it appears they were kind enough to help my parents send me a letter.”

“Huh, since when do you have friends?” Ron snorted, continuing to impersonate a human garbage disposal, shoving everything in reach into his gaping maw. “Nmph likshfff”

Hermione called on her burgeoning Occlumency skills to keep any hurt off her face. The red headed git had been a thorn in her side since the first day, even being the cause of her encounter with the troll. After that, he and the others had backed off a bit, fearing her power, but it looked like this year would be another one of ostracization.

It showed just how alone she was when no one wished her a happy birthday except Professor McGonagall at their afternoon training session. Other than the letter from her parents, and the simple cheap necklace that accompanied it, it was just another day. She could understand first year, no one knew anyone, even second year maybe, but last year and now this year, still nothing.

She drifted back into a funk by dinner, losing the fight to maintain her denial that they actually mattered. Munching half heartedly through some roasted potatoes, she started when the doors to the Great Hall boomed. Looking around, she saw she wasn’t the only one as they boomed again. She looked at the head table and saw the confused faces there as well. Everyone except Professor McGonagall, who had a small smirk on her normally stern face. Looking back to the door Hermione managed to catch the events that unfolded.

As the doors boomed a third time, they were blasted open. A piercing cry rang through the halls as a massive bird of prey swooped through the arch. Gold and Silver, a creature of magnificent beauty, Hermione instantly recognized Blitz. Harry swooped around the room, arcs of lightning ticking out from his wingtips. Something was clasped in his claws, a package of some sort.

“Calm down, everyone,” Dumbledore called, raising his wand, “this interruption will be dealt with momentarily.”

“Wait, Headmaster!” Shock at Hermione’s interruption stayed Dumbledore's hand for a moment. “Look, he has a package.”

His hesitation gave just enough time for Blitz to start hovering, letting all see his claws did indeed hold a wrapped package. Long and thin, the silver wrapped package caught the eye once it was seen. Flaring softly, the thunderbird landed heavily upon the Gryffindor table, still flapping slightly as it groaned beneath him. 

Another cry sounded, he momentarily took to air again as a spell sped towards the table from the front of the room. Looking accusingly, she saw McGonagall holding her wand, pointing it up non-threateningly. 

“A strengthening charm only,” Minerva spoke clearly, making a show of putting her wand back away.

Hermione closed her eyes, smiling as the wind from Harry’s wings washed over her. As it died, she opened her eyes, seeing him perched before her. Smiling, she ignored the scared looks around her as he stood proud in front of her. Slowly, he raised his claw, presenting the package to her. Taking it reverently, she reached up and stroked the feathers of his face, giggling as the electric arcs played over her fingers. 

“Thank you,” she said softly, then smiled as he ducked to rub his head against her. She chuckled when he batted her hand that still held the gift. “You want me to open it?”

Seeing the three meter thunderbird nod was enough to settle most of the room, though she noted both Dumbledore and Snape still held their wands in their hands. Snape worried her, as she knew how much he would desire potions ingredients made from Blitz. Putting the thought from her mind, she took the package and unwrapped it. The pure white shaft shone in the light of the hall. Pulling it out, the gasp of the hall was barely noticed.

A staff. Harry had made her staff.

She felt the world and her magic flare as she held the staff in her hand. The world swirled and she felt, actually felt, everyone around her. She could feel the magic of the castle around her, almost alive itself. She could see the auras of each person around her, especially the flares around McGonagall and the headmaster, and the greater one of Harry himself. 

Slowly, she came down from the magical high, she felt her hair settle. Surprised, she realized her hair had been splayed behind her from the power. She felt power and life roaring through her, she felt the castle, warm and welcoming. She felt awe and a little fear from the students around her. Slowly she let the energy bleed away, shocking Neville and the twins, who were sitting closest to her, with little arcs of electricity.

“Thank you,” she said softly, stroking Blitz's headfeathers gently with her free hand.

“Kreeee,” Blitz responded happily, before nudging the wrapping.

“There’s more?” Hermione asked, then dug into the wrapping when he nodded. Finally finding the letters inside, she opened and read them. She could tell Harry was laughing uproariously over this, because Dumbledore was going to freak. Grinning, she thought that was also a good present.

“Professor McGonagall,” she said clearly over the still hushed room, “the staff comes with the offer of private tuition in its use. You are invited to accompany me if you so wish, and are specifically requested to accompany me the first time to assure the offer is legitimate.”

“I see nothing wrong with this.” Minerva answered stoically. “I assume we shall travel by floo?”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione confirmed. “Once a week, at a time of my convenience though they do suggest a day over the weekend so as not to interfere with my normal schooling.”

“I shall accompany you as well, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore cut into their conversation.

“No, Headmaster,” Hermione fought to keep a grin off her face, “I’m sorry, but you are specifically barred from doing so. Apparently my tutor does not care for you and specifically bars your presence.”

“They what?”

“They specifically bar you and Professor Snape from being the Hogwarts representative to verify the tuition or accompany me. They request Professor McGonagall, but will accept any other teacher other than you or Professor Snape.”

“I see,” Dumbledore took on his sad grandfather image, “unfortunately, I will have to deny your participation in that case.”

“On what grounds?” Hermione asked, almost breaking into laughter as the headmaster followed the script Harry had sent her.

“As I am not able to verify the tuition is valid, you may not attend.”

“Headmaster, according to the Hogwarts charter, private tuition is not only allowed but encouraged.  _ Any _ member of staff is allowed to verify it as sufficient, not just the headmaster.” Hermione recited. “As a member of staff is specifically invited, your objection is unfounded.”

“You also lack parental permission,” Albus pointed out, “and as your locus parentis, I am denying you permission.”

“First, I have permission.” Hermione handed the attached permission slip to McGonagall. “Second, Professor McGonagall, as my head of house, is my in locus parentis, not you. And finally, in locus parentis is for time critical, emergency decisions, not general ones. In a school’s case it may include disciplinary actions but the parent must still be notified. Oddly enough, my parents were rather upset they weren’t informed of my petrification the year before last. Or the troll incident. Or nearly being kissed by Dementors last year.”

“There was no need, Miss Granger,” Albus said reassuringly, starting to wish this hadn’t taken place in the great hall in front of witnesses. “You were fine once the restorative draught was applied. And those other incidents were minor, no need to involve parents in something trivial.”

“I was, sure,” Hermione agreed, “but I was only petrified for a week. Colin Creevy missed six months. Funny isn’t it? You are removed from the school and less than ten days later mature mandrakes are found, a deal arranged, and the draughts administered.”

“A coincidence if I’ve ever seen one,” Albus agreed, though his jovial smile didn’t reach his eyes. He realized what she was hinting at and moved the conversation on. “But we appear to have moved a bit afield from our original topic. I will have to refresh my memory on the subject of affirming private tuition and get back to you.”

“No need, Headmaster.” Hermione was definitely going to ask how Harry predicted Dumbledore’s every move so well. “My benefactor sent this: a Gringotts certified copy of the relevant sections of the Hogwarts Charter.”

“I see…” Dumbledore sighed, finally admitting defeat. He looked at the documents, each showing what he knew they would. She was right. “Very well Miss Granger, please coordinate with Professor McGonagall on your scheduled attendance.”

“Saturday afternoon sounds good to me, Miss Granger.” A tick at the corner of McGonagall’s tight lips told Hermione how close to laughter her favorite teacher was and nodded her agreement.

Two Minutes later, Blitz was winging his way out of the castle, carrying Hermione’s ‘answer’ with him.


	19. October 29, 1994

**October 29, 1994**

“So how many tracking charms did the old fool use this time?” 

Harry looked up from where he was transferring a charm from Hermione’s left shoe to an old boot. The boot happened to be a portkey that was set to disappear to the middle of a goat farm in about three more minutes.

“Only three this time,” Harry smiled, “though he got cute and managed to tag your earring. It would be clever if you were a pureblood who had tracking charms on your jewelry to begin with.”

“They’re that lazy?” Hermione asked, slightly surprised. She cocked her head before continuing, “Actually, no. Not lazy, I can actually see the sense in that.”

“I can too, but the number of them would be annoying.”

“Not if you keyed them to another object. Do that and use the object to track a specific pair.”

“Might work,” Harry conceded. “I did have an idea for next week though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, instead of going somewhere appropriate like the goat farm, we send him somewhere more… upsetting.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what if we gave him what he wants?” Harry wilted at her arched look. Noting the Boot disappearing right on time he explained, “He already thinks you’re going to London, Right?”

“Yeah, we agreed that would be the best place to let slip.”

“Well, next time we ‘miss’ one, and let him follow you.” Harry looked at the shock in her face for a moment before expanding. “Not to London House. Though that could be fun too. No, show him that pride goes before the fall. We send the ‘missed’ tracking charm to Gringotts.”

“Harry, the Goblins will kill him!”

“Nah, first I'd let them know beforehand, they actually do appreciate a good prank and this qualifies in their eyes. Second, not even Dumbledore could apparate or Portkey through their wards. I’m sure I can convince them to redirect him somewhere interesting, like Madam Pumpernickels Dragon Dung Fertilizer pile.”

The image of the old wanker waking up from a hostile ward redirect in the largest pile of dragon manure in England actually got Hermione to chuckle. Thinking of his response calmed her though.

“What will we do when he denies my access to the extra tuition because of it?”

“How? He’d have to admit he placed illegal tracking charms on you. We never remove the standard Hogwarts one, but that also takes full agreement from all four heads of house to activate, which he’ll never get. We only remove  _ his _ charms. Plus, he’s never asked where you go, so for all he knows you happened to have business at Gringotts before your lessons. Heck, we can even go, I have some letters to deliver next week anyway.”

“I thought we agreed that Sirius’s humor was not a good meter stick for what is funny?” He cocked an eyebrow at her, to which she lasted about five seconds before snorting and beginning to laugh with him.

* * *

A week later, Hermione sat reading a book, or at least pretending to. Harry had ended up needing to spend a lot of time at Gringotts so their session had been cancelled. She had returned a mere twenty minutes after she had left, grabbed a book, and was now looking over the top of it at the castle gates.

Harry had arranged with the Goblins to allow him to pull the prank they’d discussed last week, and when she had returned, she had asked Minerva to request maintenance on the castle’s floo network connection. After the explanation of why, the deputy headmistress couldn’t move quick enough. And now she sat watching the only point the headmaster could return to the castle from.

It only took about fifteen minutes for Hermione to see the results come walking up the path. She first caught the glint of his vibrant blue robes as he passed the ward line. Well, his robes used to be vibrant blue, now they were covered in large splotches of varying shades of brown, with bits of other less mentionable items throughout. A little known fact about dragon dung was it was as magic resistant as the dragons it came from, meaning to get it out of one’s clothing, you had to physically wash it, not use a spell.

“Are you okay, Headmaster?” Hermione called, startling the old goat.

“Ah, Miss Granger,” His false cheer fooled neither of them, “I thought you had your extra lessons today.”

“I did, but my tutor ended up having to take care of some unexpected business with Gringotts. We stopped on our way and once they discovered the quick stop wouldn’t be that quick, the lesson was cancelled. I have some self exercises to work on, but the actual lesson for today will be completed next week.”

“I see,” the flash of aggravation that crossed the Headmaster's face would have been missed by anyone not looking for it.

“What happened to you?”

“A joke or a misunderstanding I’m sure,” Dumbledore assured her. “Someone redirected my portkey, resulting in an unexpected stop. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get cleaned up before lunch.”

She watched the old mad walk off, a bit more urgency in his step. She waited until he had fully turned his back on her before silently casting her patronus and sent it off with a message. She was sure Minerva wished to see this herself.

* * *

  
  


“No no no, stop.” Hermione cringed at the frustration seeping into Harry’s tone as he called to her. Easing her grasp on the magic around her she gently released it before turning to him. He looked good, a corner of her brain thought. The rugged look along with his exercise clothes always sent a little thrill through her, though the look on his face did not.

“Hermione, you’re thinking too much.”

“What do you mean, I'm using the magic around me, not my own.”

“You are a little, but you’re... “ He paused, trying to find the right words. “You’re  _ too  _ controlling.”

“Too controlling?” Hermione felt a bit hurt at his accusation. “You mean bossy, don’t you?”

“No,  _ not  _ bossy, controlling.” He halted her spiral into self pity. “I'm not saying that it’s a bad thing, well, I guess I am but let me explain.”

“Go on.” Her crossed arms told him it had better be a good explanation.

“Remember when we first started talking about magic, and how wandless magic was like being the coach of a team?”

“Yes.”

“Well, maybe I didn’t explain it well enough. The way you’re coaching right now is like you are calling every move, not just every play. You’re trying to control each piece and each move they make. You’re acting like a chessmaster, making each move individually.”

“But isn’t that what I'm supposed to do, tell the magic what to do?”

“Yes and no.” He ran his hand through his silky locks looking for the right explanation. “Think of it this way. Which is easier: Telling each player where to go and what to do? Or telling the team to get the ball into the other goal?”

“Telling the team,” Hermione said, her face thoughtful.

“Exactly. It’s like the discussion we had about accidental magic. Remember you telling me about that story book you used to always find and get, even when your parents put it high up on shelves or hid it?”

“So you’re saying it’s like that. Each time I never thought it through, I just wanted it to come to me. I never thought: lift off the shelf, move to me and release.”

“Exactly. You just told magic what you wanted, not how to do it. It’s instinct. Instead of dictating each step, command the overall goal. Most of the things you can do with wandless magic, well, this kind of wandless magic, has no correlating spell. Sure, you can use multiple spells, but that isn’t the same.”

“Where does the staff come into play with all of this?”

“A staff, properly used, is more a modulator than a necessity. It's bound to the magic field and to the user. This lets them access the field easier. It’s like one of those walkie talkie things you showed me last year. It lets you ‘talk’ to the players easier, without shouting and yelling.”

“So a staff is like an aide to accessing the magic field, letting me use less of my own to get the effect I want?”

“Kind of.” Harry sat next to her, his hand sliding into her own. “Normally you would have to create an interface, a connection, to the magic field. A staff already has that with both of you, so it is already there. You don’t have to maintain the connection and direct the magic, you just direct the magic.”

“So basically, I'm forcing it and not using the tools I have to make it easier.” Hermione sighed as she realized where she was mistaken. “I’m taking too much on myself and not letting magic be magic.”

“Exactly.” Harry let her hand go to hug her to his side. “Magic is natural, forcing it takes so much more than just guiding it.”

“I think I get it now,” Hermione snuggled into his side, “and I’d like to try again, but this is more comfortable.”

“I agree. We only have a little while left, want to call it here and just relax until you have to go back?”

“Sounds perfect to me.” Hermione sighed, then turned in his arms and kissed him.


	20. January 20, 1995

**A/N: **No, i'm not dead, nor am I J.K. Rowling, so only the ideas are mine. Several people have commented about the Tri-Wizard and while it is not happening fourth year as in Cannon, it will happen, so be patient.

**January 20, 1995**

“Ah, Miss Granger, this is unexpected. I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow.”

“You won’t be seeing me tomorrow. Harry has something to finish in Japan and can’t make it,” Hermione answered her favorite teacher.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Minerva set the quill she’d been grading papers with down, “So what is the problem? This isn’t the first time he’s had to take care of things and cancelled lessons.”

“No,” Hermione sighed, “but it’s the first time I’ve really wanted to talk to him and now I have to wait and stew for another week.”

“You can’t talk to him with your journal?”

“No, I can, but this…” The normally very confident student paused, obviously unsure, and Minerva sat up. Whatever the issue was, it was big. “This needs to be done face to face.”

“I see.” McGonagall flicked her wand and the door behind Hermione shut itself. “Well, take a seat, maybe talking to me will help?”

“If I knew what was wrong, maybe it would.” Hermione sat in the armchair to the side of McGonagall's desk. “And that’s part of the problem.”

“Sounds convoluted enough, why don’t you tell me more?”

“I guess it started over Christmas.” Hermione looked down at the steaming cup of tea that had appeared in her hand. “Thanks Tippy. Anyway, I spent the entire time with Harry and Sirius on the Island. It was great, and I had planned on returning to see my parents for a few days over the new year but, once I got their Christmas present, I didn't go.”

“I’m guessing that upset Harry?”

“He certainly didn’t seem happy about it,” Hermione agreed, then seeing the cross expression on Minerva’s face she hurried to explain. “It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend time with me, but that I didn’t want to see my parents.”

“I can see that, he never had the chance to know his, and to see someone choose not to spend time with theirs is not something he would easily understand.”

“I get that, but I don’t think he understands my situation.”

“And what situation is that?”

“I don’t belong.” Hermione’s eyes began to glisten as her voice cracked with emotion, “My parents were always very proper, very much the everything in its place and time. I think… I think I was an accident and they resented that.”

“An accident?”

“They weren’t intending on having a child, at least not when they did. They had just graduated, barely starting their lives outside of school. A baby added to their difficulties and took time from each other. It’s not that I feel I was unwanted, just that coming when I did, I was a burden,” Hermione explained.

Professor McGonagall’s stream of Gaelic caught Hermione off guard and she jumped a little. Minerva caught this and immediately apologised.

“No lass, that wasn’t anything against you,” The woman assured her. “It’s just… I can’t have children. Old injury that not even magic could heal. To hear of anyone that has such a joy and doesn’t appreciate it makes my blood boil, lass.”

“I don’t think they didn’t appreciate me, just saw me as a burden they didn’t want.” Hermione paused, taking a deep breath. “They did love me, but the deeper connection that most parents and children have never grew. Add to that my magic and things were never the closest between me and them.”

“And now?”

“Now, they don’t understand what magic is or means to me. They want their normal daughter back and can’t understand that I'm not normal.”

“What do you mean dear?”

“They gave me textbooks for Christmas, muggle school textbooks.” The tears in Hermione’s eyes finally began to spillover and trail down her face. “I might have passed it off as them just wanting me to stay connected, keep options open, but the note they included...” Hermione couldn’t finish as a sob caught her breath.

“Note?”

Unable to say more, Hermione reached into her robes and pulled a much worn piece of paper from within. Handing the ragged note to Minerva, Hermione broke down and she sobbed freely into a handkerchief that appeared on her lap. Carefully, Minerva opened the note and read it.

_ Hermione, _

_ I hope you are well, the enclosed textbooks are to help you get back up to speed with your  _ ** _real _ ** _ education. Too long have we allowed you to follow this fantasy and daydream, it ends now. This will be your last year at that fake school, you will use these books to study and next year will reenter real school. We will see you when you get off that blasted train for the last time in June. _

_ Mom and Dad. _

“Well I never,” Minerva began, then looked back at the crying witch. “You didn’t tell Harry, did you?”

“Of course not,” Hermione sobbed, “He’d never understand, and it might cause him to do something rash.”

“Now that last bit I understand, I'm tempted to go and talk to them myself.”

“No, you can’t, professor. They just-”

“They don’t want a  _ witch  _ for a daughter,” Minerva cut her off, then her expression softened. “It isn’t the first time this has happened, nor do I expect it to be the last. Come, gather your things.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away from here.” McGongall stood, and with a swish of her wand, a small bag packed itself before floating over to her. Taking the young witch by the hand, she made her way over to the floo. Before lighting it, she cast her patronus. “To Professor Dumbledore: I am accompanying Miss Granger to her lessons today. I’ve been informed they may last longer than normal, definitely overnight tonight, possibly tomorrow as well. This is why I am going along and shall insure everything is proper and above board. We shall return no later than Sunday at dinner. To Professor Flitwick: Fillius, I am forced to leave the castle to take care of some urgent matters, please keep an eye on Gryffindor for me and tell the Prefects to contact you if there are any issues. This will last at least until tomorrow, possibly the day after, but don’t worry. I’ll tell you what I can after dinner Sunday.”

Taking a pinch of Floo powder from her urn, McGonagall turned to Hermione.

“Please trust me, Hermione.” She turned back to the fire and tossed the floo powder in, causing the flames to go green. “ Caisteal air a ’bheinn”

When Hermione stepped out of the floo, she was confronted by a rustic entryway. The walls were stone, warm and welcoming, yet sturdy. The walls were covered by ancient tapestries, lit by torches and felt… homey, whereas Hogwarts’ felt… not rigid so much as impersonal. The furniture was worn but not ragged, a lived-in look.

“Welcome to Dun McGonagall.” Minerva said softly behind her. “My home.”

“Professor?” 

“We’ll be staying here tonight. You need some time away from everything.” McGonagall led her through the keep to a small suite. “I’ll have Tippy bring your things, but not your books. You need to think and reflect, not lose yourself in study. I also need to calm down.” Minerva looked haunted as she looked out the window overlooking the glenn. “We’ll talk more in the morning?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Hermione stammered, thrown by her favorite teacher's questioning tone. She watched as McGonagall left with a nod, but neither saw what happened after. Both witches sagged as the door closed between them. Hermione felt the enormity of the situation settle on her shoulders, fearing a decision was about to be forced on her. Minerva sagged as she felt the guilt over the choice she’d have to offer the lass in the morning.

Dawn broke strong and clear over Dun McGonagall, and Hermione woke feeling warm and welcome, a feeling she’d not had outside of the Island in a long time. Distant voices drifted over her, indistinguishable, yet undeniably urgent. The weight that had finally left her in sleep settled back upon her shoulders, and she breathed a heavy sigh. Slowly, regretfully, she threw off the wonderfully warm covers and slid on her housecoat. Tying the sash and slipping her feet into her favorite pair of Fuzzy Bunny slippers, she made her way towards the voices.

As she approached, she started to be able to make out some things.

“...Scared the life...”

“...No choice...”

“...What about...”

“...Adoption, or maybe...”

“...Talking her future...”

“...Talk to her lad...”

She turned the corner, and was confronted by a most unexpected sight. Harry, dressed in blood stained healer's robes, was standing there arguing with McGonagall. He was obviously irate, and definitely distraught, but Hermione never saw that, she just saw  _ Harry _ . Her heart swelled as their eyes met, banishing the feelings of dread that had chased her all week. 

“Harry,” she whispered, shocked.

“Hermione,” Harry was instantly in front of her, “are you ok? What happened? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Harry…” Hermione savored the feeling of love and support as he pulled her into a tight embrace, “I didn’t— I was— oh I don’t know.”

“Whatever is going on, I’m here Hermione,” Harry whispered into her ear. “I know it’s important, and that you’re upset, but Minerva hasn’t told me anything more. Said it was your story to tell. Whatever it is and however much you want to tell me, I'm here.”

“Thank you.” Hermione squeezed him, holding tight as she could. “It’s my parents.”

“Are they ok? They’re not hurt are they?”

“No, they’re fine, they just…” Harry’s squeeze gave her the courage to go on. “They are planning on removing me from Hogwarts after this year, to make me go back to regular school and forget everything.”

“They… do they know what that means?” Harry asked darkly, anger obvious in his voice.

“What is going on? Why are you both so angry?” Hermione pulled back slightly to face her boyfriend. “I mean I understand you want me to stay in school but there’s something else, isn’t there?”

“Hermione, a magical born of non-magical parents is treated very poorly, even when they stay in school, I'm sure you’ve noticed that.” Harry waited for her nod before continuing. “If they fail to complete their schooling, earning at least their OWLs, it’s almost worse. They, and their families, are obliviated and they have their magic bound.”

“But, but…”

“But it’s barbaric, I know.” Harry pulled her tight. “Historically, it’s even worse. The ministry doesn’t care about them much, so typically instead of removing just the knowledge of magic from them, they simply remove all the knowledge since they learned of magic. You would lose four years of your life, as would your parents.”

“It gets worse,” McGonagall spoke softly, “I’ve tried for year to get this changed but it is not allowed for british muggle born students to take their OWLs early, nor are any OWLs taken outside of Britain acknowledged as valid for Muggleborns, even the international OWLs or NEWTs like you took last summer with Master Katsuma.”

“That’s… That’s just wrong.”

“I agree, and I've been trying to change it for years, but unfortunately, the school board has denied it every time I've tried.”

“That will change in a few years Minerva,” Harry said coldly, before turning back to Hermione and continuing softly. “There are other options, none of them are perfect though.”

“What are they?”

“First is something I intended to wait a while longer before bringing up.” Harry sounded a bit sheepish now. “We could become promised.”

“Promised? What is that?”

“It’s an ancient custom, lass,” Minerva supplied, “and though I would say you are a bit young yet, I can’t deny it should work.” Seeing Hermione’s look she continued. “Before Betrothals became popular as business and power arrangements between pureblood families, Promising was the way a couple would be engaged if they were younger than sixteen. Promising was between the individuals, much like a muggle engagement, but also like a magically binding oath. It protected the two binding themselves, and prevented outside interference in the match. The purebloods started wanting more control, so betrothals, which were negotiated between the families, became the norm.”

“So, you’re asking me to marry you?” Hermione faced Harry, her eyes swirling with emotions. 

“I would, to keep you safe. It was always something I would ask eventually, and have thought about, but it was not something I intended to ask today.”

“When?”

“I had thought next year maybe. We’re young, and I know what I feel for you, but not what you feel for me. I thought we’d need time to get there.”

“I… I see that, but if that’s the only way…”

“It’s not,” McGonagall said quietly but firmly. “There are other options: Adoption for one.”

“Adoption?”

“Yes lass, I could adopt you in the magical world, bringing you into Clan McGonagall. Both options have their issues, and there are others, but those are the two most readily available to us.”

“You, you want me as your daughter?” Hermione slid from Harry’s arms and staggered towards Minerva.

“Lass, you are already my daughter in all but blood,” Minerva’s eyes weren’t exactly dry as she found her arms full of crying witch.

It took several hours of discussion, most of which was informing Hermione of the various issues and options associated with her choices, as well as general information of the repercussions. The promising sounded wonderful, but there were several negatives associated with it. Not only would Harry have to stop hiding, but he would then be constrained by British laws. Not only that, but it would make Hermione a target for those who would prefer  _ their _ daughter be on Harry’s arm. So, while Hermione told Harry her answer would be yes whenever he was ready to ask, they decided that adoption seemed their best option for now. They considered Sirius as an alternative to Minerva, him being the only other magical they trusted, but they all agreed that it was better not to involve the renegade if at all possible. Remus was also mentioned but his status as a Werewolf would preclude his involvement. Hermione finally agreed to be adopted by Minerva, which led the trio to their current location: Hermione’s childhood home.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Minerva asked, “I can do this all myself you know.”

“No, I need to be here.” She looked at Harry, who was right by her side supporting her. “Besides, I have my family with me.”

“Ok lass, let’s get this over with.” Minerva sighed, and rang the doorbell.


	21. January 22, 1995

**A/N: Contrary to popular belief, I’m not dead. I’m also not J.K. Rowling, so enjoy what I do with her creations.**

**January 22, 1995**

“Hermione?” her mother asked in surprise as she opened the door, then glanced at the two accompanying her daughter. “What is going on here?”

“Mrs Granger, I’m not sure you remember me but I am Professor McGonagall.”

“I remember, you’re the one that convinced us to send Hermione to that school of yours.” The tone was less than welcoming.

“Indeed Mrs Granger,” Minerva confirmed, her tone even despite the tick near her eye. “Hermione has informed me of your intentions, the ones you expressed in her christmas present and we wanted to discuss that decision with you. May we come in?”

“Why not? Though, I doubt you’ll convince us otherwise.” She turned and left the door hanging open. The glance shared between the three was telling, for all three now feared the results of this conversation.

The Granger home was well kept, with a lived in look. Neat but not pristine was the image the house gave, and the kitchen seemed to be the heart of it. They ended up gathered around the kitchen table. Emma and Dan were on one side, Hermione surrounded by Harry and Minerva on the other.

“Mr and Mrs Granger, it is my understanding that you intend to withdraw Hermione from Hogwarts at the end of the year. Is this still your intention?” Minerva started.

“Of course it is, we’ve paid too much money for something we can’t see and that can’t be used in the real world. She is a brilliant girl who should be flourishing in a real school, learning things to make her way in the world, not practicing cheap parlor tricks and thinking it’s going to let her make her a living.”

“If I may,” Harry interrupted Minerva as she began to answer. “What you refer to as cheap parlor tricks are part of your daughter, whether you acknowledge that or not. In fact, she is one of the most powerful witches ever, and certainly one of the smartest. Now you made a point about not seeing anything that she is learning, you do understand there are laws against her showing you, right? I have offered repeatedly to allow you to journey to my home and see it there, yet you never accept.”

“We don’t have the time or the money to go on a trip at the drop of a hat,” Dan defended. “We have obligations.”

“Don’t you have one to your daughter?” Harry returned hotly. “You say you didn’t have time or money, did you ever ask how long it would take? Did I ever ask you to pay for the trip? The answer is no to both. It takes Hermione about twenty minutes to get from here to my island, that is the time it would take you. An hour or so, a trip to London and a step through a doorway, yet you never bothered.”

“Mr Potter,” Minerva cut his rant off. “Be that as it may, we are here to help Hermione, not vent your spleen.”

“Sorry Professor.”

“The reason we are so upset by your decision is that there are consequences to the actions you wish to take that we don’t believe you are aware of.” Minerva’s calm voice seemed to dial back the hostility a bit.

“Consequences?”

“Unfortunately, the laws in the wizarding world, at least in Britain, are a bit backwards and outdated.” McGonagall's face was hard, yet neither Granger felt it was directed at them. “The law states that if a witch or wizard born to muggle parents, such as Hermione here, fails to complete her OWL testing, their magic is to be bound and all knowledge of magic be erased from her mind. Now, this may not seem like that bad of an option, but the laws don’t stop there. No muggleborn is allowed to take the OWL tests early, nor are the international tests she took last summer valid for her here. We don’t agree with these laws, far from it, but it is the law.”

“Before you think this is a great option, that you would get your daughter back, you should understand this.” Harry took up the explanation, “The Ministry of Magic doesn't really care for the consequences to the families of Muggleborns. They are bigots at worst and just indifferent at best. The standard procedure when they erase the knowledge of magic from muggles and muggleborns is to take the easy way. You see, there are two ways to erase this knowledge. The first is to take the time and effort to go in and simply erase the bits of your memory about magic. These folks are lazy, they take the easy way, and simply erase _ everything _since you learned of magic.”

“They… you mean.”

“I mean you would have the last four years erased, gone, like it never happened. Everything, from friends to helping your patients, would disappear if it happened in the last four years. Hermione would think she was still ten or eleven and have no idea how to deal with herself. You wouldn’t recognize a lot of people in your life, or anything that has happened since September 1990.”

“That’s barbaric!”

“We agree, but it is the law and there really isn’t anything you can do to stop them.” Minerva’s tone was now sad, almost mournful. “But there are options. The first being simply keep her in Hogwarts. Or there are other options.”

“What other options?” Dan seemed wary.

“Well, one option is, well, there is no delicate way to ask this,” Minerva fumbled slightly, then pressed ahead. “Would you rather a witch for a daughter, or no daughter at all?”

“What are you asking?” Emma seemed affronted, but there was curiosity in her tone as well.

“What I’m _ offering _is to adopt Hermione.” Minerva pressed on, “She has admitted she felt unwanted, and suspected you would have been happier without having had her, at least when you did. She has expressed a feeling of burden from both of you, like you see her as a duty or a chore, not a daughter you love.”

“What do you mean Hermione?” Emma asked sadly

“I mean you never encourage me, you never reassure me.” Tears streamed down her face and Harry pulled her into his lap. “You have never told me you loved me and since I was five you scheduled time with me, like spending that time was one of your duties. You have rarely hugged me or shown me affection. I was something you had to take care of, not something you loved.”

“Well, you…” Emma started, like she was trying to deny it and couldn’t.

“Was I an accident?” Hermione demanded, held back from standing in accusation only by Harry’s arms around her. “Did you ever intend on having kids?”

“No, we didn’t. In fact, you should never have been born,” Dan spoke softly, yet as if revealing a huge secret. “You see, I’m effectively sterile.”

Silence filled the room. You could hear a pin drop as the words sank in.

“When Emma found out she was pregnant, there were so many tests,” Dan continued, slowly and softly. “For most of the pregnancy I thought Emma had cheated on me. It took five fertility tests to find the answer. In those five tests, it wasn’t until the fifth that they found any viable sperm cells. We had discussed kids, early in our relationship I told Emma about my issue. She didn’t want any kids, while I had accepted I never would. When you happened, we didn’t see it as a miracle. We should have, but we just saw an obstacle.”

“You ruined our plans, changed everything for us,” Emma cried. “I know we shouldn’t blame you but we do.”

“So you did what you were obligated to do?” Harry asked, “Why didn’t you put her up for adoption?”

“They’re devout, Harry,” Hermione supplied. “They don’t believe in it. Just like they don’t believe in abortion. They do believe in the devil though.”

“They think...” Harry stopped himself. “So you wont give her up for adoption?”

“It’s a sin to abandon your family,” Emma told him levelly.

“And to treat them as you have Hermione?” Harry countered. “There may be a compromise though. If you emancipate her in the muggle world, she can accept adoption in the Magical world, you never have to. You are giving her the freedom to make her own choices, what she does with it is not a reflection on you.”

“I… Hermione?” Dan looked at his daughter, still curled up in the boys lap.

“Being magical is who I am, denying that part of me isn't something I could ever do.” She sniffed, then snuggled deeper. Dan looked at his wife. With the age old skill married couples have had for centuries, they conversed in a look, then Dan sighed heavily.

“Where do we need to sign?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“How are you feeling?”

Hermione looked up from her book as Harry wandered into the room. They were in the London house, their lesson had finished early and she had retreated into a book while they relaxed before she returned to Hogwarts. It had become their way of things: they’d practice and work most of the morning and into the afternoon, with a break for lunch, then separate for half an hour or so to wind down before spending ‘couple time’ together before she had to go. 

“I’m getting better, I think.” She shuddered at the emotional wreck she’d been a few weeks ago after her parents basically gave her up without much fight.

“Are you?” He settled in behind her, pulling her back to lean against him.

“I think so.” She sighed at the contact, feeling his warmth seep into her. “It’s not easy, but I'm getting there.”

“Are you ready to hear more?”

“More what?” She twisted to look at him.

“More about everything. You basically agreed to marry me a few weeks ago, despite everything I haven't told you.” His hand rubbed slowly up and down her back, caressing her through her shirt. “Before I ask again, I need you to know everything, so you can make the decision with all the information.”

“I’m ready if you are.” Hermione put up a strong face, trying to be supportive rather than eager.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be truly ready, but you need to know this.” Harry sighed heavily, gathering himself. “I’ve told both you and Minerva that Voldemort isn’t dead. Well, there’s a reason he isn’t. He made Horcruxes, soul jars, that anchor him to this plane of existence so long as they exist.”

“That’s…”

“It’s pure evil, the darkest of rituals is needed to create one, plus the death of a sacrifice. Voldemort, or Tom Riddle as he was before he changed his name, created seven. We have found and destroyed most of them, all but one in fact.”

“Tell me about them?”

“The first to be found, was me.” Harry held her as she jumped in surprise. “The night Dumbledore left me like a milk bottle on a doorstep, Death removed it. That was actually what clued us in to the fact he had made them. We found a ring at his mother's house, and for some reason a necklace once belonging to Salazar Slytherin in Sirius’s house, what we eventually converted into the London House. The Diary that was controlling the Weasley girl your second year was another.”

“That’s what you pulled out of it, wasn’t it? The piece of his soul.”

“It was. We found another in a Death Eater vault, well, the goblins did. That one was a chalice once owned by Helga Hufflepuff. By measuring how much of his soul is in each, we have found that there is only one more.”

“Do you know what it is?”

Not for sure,” Harry admitted. “Given the others however, they seem to be trophies. Symbols of power. My best guess is something once owned by Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Only two artifacts are believed to have survived from Godric, his hat, now used for the sortings, and his sword, which you now carry. Neither are tainted with a piece of his soul.”

“What about Ravenclaw?”

“Her diadem is famous, but hasn't been seen in centuries. We can’t rule it out though, since both Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff’s Cup hadn’t either.” Harry seemed to brace himself under her. “And that’s not the worst part.”

“What’s the worst part?”

“Right now he exists as a shade, what you saw in the mirror chamber first year. He’s sort of halfway, and no one is sure what will happen if we destroy the last Horcrux before he becomes at least partially, if not wholly, corporeal once more.”

“So you’re saying that even if we find the last one, if he hasn’t taken a body he might not die?”

“We’re not sure. The best guess is he will, but if he takes an intermediate form, say a Homunculus, then we have no idea. He probably needs to be fully back to fully die, which means we are on a time crunch.”

They sat quietly for a while, each lost in thought but taking solace in the other’s presence. Time passed, and eventually their caresses became firmer, their touches needier, and kisses more passionate. It wasn't the first time they had snogged, but each time was better than the last and this one was shaping up to be rather epic.

“I see you’re making good use of your time.”

The interruption startled both of them, and Harry ended up on the floor as he tried to put some separation between them. Looking up as he rubbed his backside, he swore he saw a smirk on Minerva’s lips, just for a second.

“It is time to be going, Miss Granger,” the stern Scotswoman continued, eyeing them both. “And for future reference, doors lock for a reason.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Harry blushed like a schoolboy.

“Oh, and Mr Potter?” Harry looked up from his study of the floor, seeing Hermione gathering her things behind her future mother. “As you and my future daughter have developed an intimate relationship, I think we need to have a little talk.:

“A talk?”

“Yes Mr Potter, if I am going to approve your courtship of my daughter, there are certain standards to be met.” Harry saw Hermione looking up in shock behind Minerva. “I am however, not unkind. We shall postpone this discussion until I am officially her mother. This should give you adequate time to prepare, and to put your affairs in order.”

McGongall turned and moved towards the floo, pulling a still stunned Hermione with her as they departed for Hogwarts. It wasn't until some time after the fire returned to it’s normal flickering orange-yellow that he finally recovered. The fear however, lingered.


End file.
